OF  THE 
U  N  I  VLRS  ITY 
or  ILLINOIS 

823 
B4GJlo 
1885 


§1 


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Latest  Date  stamped  below. 

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UNIVERSITY   OF    ILLINOIS    LIBRARY   AT  URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 


THE  PICCADILLY  NOVELS. 

POPULAR  STORIES  BY  THE  BEST  AUTHORS. 
Many  of  th-em  Illustrated.  Crown  8vo.,  cloth  extra,  3s.  6d.  each. 


By  MRS.  ALEXANDER. 
Maid,  Wife,  or  Widow? 

By  WALTER  BESANT  &  JAMES  RICE. 


Ready-Money  Mor- 

tiboy. 
My  Little  GirL 
Case  of  Mr.  Lucraft. 
This  Son  of  Vulcan. 
With  Harp  &  Crown. 
The  Golden  Butterfly. 


By  Celia's  Arhour. 
Monks  of  Thelema. 
'Twas  in  Trafalgar's 

Bay. 
The  Seamy  Side. 
Ten  Years'  Tenant. 
Chaplain  of  the  Fleet 


By  WALTER  BESANT. 
All  Sorts  and  Conditions  of  Men. 
The  Captains'  Room. 
All  in  a  Garden  Fair. 
Dorothy  Forster. 

By  ROBERT  BUCHANAN. 


A  Child  of  Nature. 
God  and  the  Man. 
Shadow  of  the  Sword 
Love  Me  for  Ever. 
Foxglove  Manor. 


Martyrdom  of  Made- 
line. 
Annan  Water. 
The  New  Abelard. 
Matt. 


By  MRS.  LOVETT  CAMERON. 
Deceivers  Ever.       |  Juliet's  Guardian. 

By  MORTIMER  COLLINS. 
Sweet  Anne  Page.      |  Transmigration. 
From  Midnight  to  Midnight. 

By  MORTIMER  &  FRANCES  COLLINS. 
Blacksmith  and  Scholar. 
The  Village  Comedy. 
You  Play  Me  False. 

By  WILKIE  COLLINS. 


Antonina. 
Basil. 

Hide  and  Seek. 
The  Dead  Secret. 
The  Queen  of  Hearts. 
My  Miscellanies. 
The  Woman  in  White 
The  Moonstone. 
Man  and  Wife. 
Poor  Miss  Finch. 


Miss  or  Mrs.  ? 
The  New  Magdalen. 
The  Frozen  Deep. 
The  Law  and  the 

Lady. 
The  Two  Destinies. 
The  Haunted  Hotel. 
The  Fallen  Leaves. 
Jezebel's  Daughter. 
The  Black  Robe. 


Heart  and  Science. 

By  DUTTON  COOK. 
Paul  Foster's  Daughter. 

By  WILLIAM  CYPLES. 
Hearts  of  Gold. 


By  ALPHONSE  DAUDET. 
Port  Salvation ;  or,  The  Evangelist. 

By  JAMES  DE  MILLE. 
A  Castle  in  Spain. 

By  T.  LEITH  DERWENT. 
Our  Lady  of  Tears.  |  Circe's  Lovers. 

By  M.  BETHAM-EDWARDS. 
Felicia.  |  Kitty. 

By  MRS.  ANNIE  EDWARDES. 
Archie  Lovell. 

By  R.  E.  FRANCILLON. 
Olympia.  I  One  by  One. 

Queen  Cophetua.       |  A  Real  Queen. 

Prefaced  by  SIR  BARTLE  FRERE. 
Pandurang  Hari. 

By  EDWARD  GARRETT. 
The  Capel  Girls. 

By  CHARLES  GIBBON. 


Robin  Gray. 
For  Lack  of  Gold. 
What  willWorld  say? 
For  the  King. 
In  Honour  Bound. 
Queen  of  the  Meadow 
In  Pastures  Green. 


Loving  a  Dream. 
Flower  of  the  Forest. 
A  Heart's  Problem. 
The  Braes  of  Yarrow. 
The  Golden  Shaft. 
Of  High  Degree. 
Fancy  Free. 


By  THOMAS  HARDY. 
Under  the  Greenwood  Tree. 

By  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE. 
Garth.  I  Prince  Saroni's  Wife 

Ellice  Quentin.  Dust. 
Sebastian  Strome.     |  Beatrix  Randolph. 
Fortune's  Fool. 

By  SIR  ARTHUR  HELPS. 
Ivan  de  Biron. 

By  MRS.  ALFRED  HUNT. 
Thornicroft's  Model.  |  The  Leaden  Casket. 
Self-Condemned. 

By  JEAN  INGELOW 
Fated  to  be  Free. 

By  HARRIETT  JAY. 
Queen  of  Connaught.  j  The  Dark  Colleen. 

By  HENRY  KINGSLEY. 
Number  Seventeen. 


CHATTO  AND   WIND  US,  PICCADILLY,  W, 


[1 


THE  PICCADILLY  'i^OYY.hS— continued. 

Crown  8vo.,  cloth  extra,  3s.  6d.  each. 


By  E.  LYNN  LINTON. 


Patricia  Kemball. 
The  Atonement  of 

Learn  Dundas. 
Tlie  World  Well  Lost 


Under  Whicli  Lord? 
With  a  Silken  Thread 
Rebel  of  the  family. 
*  My  Love  I* 


lone. 

By  HENRY  W.  LUCY. 
Gideon  Fleyce. 

By  JUSTIN  McCarthy. 

Waterdale     Neigh-  A  Fair  Saxon, 
hours. 

My  Enemy's  Daugh- 
ter. 

Linley  Rochford. 

Maid  of 


Dear  Lady  Disdain. 
Miss  Misanthrope. 
Donna  Quixote. 
Comet  of  a  Season. 
Athens. 


By  GEORGE  MACDONALD. 
Paul  Faher,  Surgeon. 
Thomas  Wingf  old. 

By  MRS.  MACDONELL. 
Quaker  Cousins. 

By  KATHARINE  S.  MACQUOID. 
The  Evil  Eye. 

By  FLORENCE  MARRYAT. 
Open !  Sesame !        |  Written  in  Fire. 

By  D.  CHRISTIE  MURRAY. 


A  Life's  Atonement. 
Joseph's  Coat. 
Val  Strange. 
Coals  of  Fire. 
A  Model  Father. 


Hearts. 
By  the  Gate  of  the 
Sea. 

The  Way    of  the 
World. 


A  Bit  of  Human  Nature. 

By  MRS.  OLIPHANT. 
Whiteladies. 

By  MARGARET  A.  PAUL. 
Gentle  and  Simple. 

By  JAMES  PAYN. 


Lost  Sir  Massingherd 
The  Best  of  Husbands 
Fallen  Fortunes. 
Halves. 

Walter's  Word. 
What  He  Cost  Her. 
Less    Black  than 

we're  Painted. 
By  Proxy. 


High  Spirits. 
Under  One  Roof. 
Carlyon's  Year. 
A  Confidential  Agent 
From  Exile. 
A  Grape  f  roma  Thorn 
For  Cash  Only. 
Kit :  a  Memory. 
The  Canon's  Ward. 


By  E.  C.  PRICE. 
Valentina.  |  The  Foreigners. 

Mrs.  Lancaster's  Rival. 

By  MRS.  J.  H.  RIDDELL. 
Her  Mother's  Darling. 
The  Prince  of  Wales's  Garden  Party. 
Weird  Stories. 


By  CHARLES  READE. 


It  is  Never  Too  Late 

to  Mend. 
Hard  Cash. 
Peg  Woffington. 
Christie  Johnstone. 
Griffith  Gaunt. 
The  Double  Marriage 
Love  Me  Little,  Love 

Me  Long. 
Foul  Play. 

The  Cloister  and  the 

Hea.rth. 
The  Course  of  True 

Love. 


The  Autobiography 

of  a  Thief. 
Put  Yourself  in  His 

Place. 
Terrible  Temptation 
The  Wandering  Heir. 
A  Simpleton. 
A  Woman-Hater. 
Readiana. 

Singleheart  and 

Doubleface. 
The  Jilt. 

Good  Stories  of  Men 
and  other  Animals. 


By  F.  W.  ROBINSON. 
Women  are  Strange  1  The  Hands  of  Justice. 

By  JOHN  SAUNDERS. 
Bound  to  the  Wheel.  I  Guy  Waterman. 
One    Against    the  The  Lion  in  the  Path. 
World.  I  The  Two  Dreamers. 

By  KATHARINE  SAUNDERS. 
Joan  Merryweather.  |  Gideon's  Rock. 
Sebastian.      [beth.   The  High  Mills. 
Margaret  and  Eliza-  |  Heart  Salvage. 
By  T.  W.  SPEIGHT. 
The  Mysteries  of  Heron  Dyke. 

By  R.  A.  STERNDALE. 
The  Afghan  Knife. 

By  BERTHA  THOMAS. 
Proud  Maisie.  |  The  Violin-player. 

Cressida. 

By  ANTHONY  TROLLOPE. 
The  Way  We  Live   Frau  Frohmann. 

Now.  Marion  Fay. 

American  Senator.      Mr.  Scarborough's 
Kept  in  the  Dark.  Family. 

The  Land-Leaguers. 

By  FRANCES  E.  TROLLOPE. 
Mabel's  Progress.      |  Anne  Furness. 
Like  Ships  upon  the  Sea. 

By  IVAN  TURGENIEFF,  and  Others. 
Stories  from  Foreign  Novelists. 

By  C.  C.  FRASER-TYTLER. 
Mistress  Judith. 

By  SARAH  TYTLER. 
What  She  Came  Through. 
The  Bride's  Pass. 
Saint  Mungo's  City. 

By  J.  S.  WINTER. 
Cavalry  Life. 
Regimental  Legends. 


2] 


CHATTO  AND  WIND  US,  PICCADILLY,  W. 


J)aJ)/uic,  or  Dorothy — which  ^ 

Reproduced^  by  kind  permission^  fro^n  the  '''Graphic.  "J 


DOROTHY  FORSTER 


By  WALTER  BESANT 

AUTHOR  0?  'all  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN,'  *  THE  CAPTAINS*  ROOM, 
'all  in  a  garden  FAIR,'  ETC. 


A  NEW  EDITION 

WITH  A  FRONTISPIECE  BY  CHARLES  GREEN 


CHATTO    AND    WINDUS,  PICCADILLY 
1885 

[All  rights  7'eserved] 


az3 

I  885 


r 


70 

M.    G.  B. 

AND 

E.  F.  L. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN            .  »  •  ,  .  1 

II.  THE  FORSTEES             .             .  .  .  .  .13 

m.  THE  HEIR  OF  BAMBOROUGH   ,  .  .  ,  .24 

IV.  HIS  HIGHNESS  THE  PRINCE   .  .  .  .  .33 

V.  MR.  ANTONY  HILYARD             .  .  .  .  .37 

VI.  THE  CHIEF  CREDITOR             ,  ,  ,  ,  .  -48 

VII.  ROOM  FOR  MY  LORD  .             ,  .  .  .  .57 

VIII.  A  PRINCE  IN  ISRAEL  .             ,  .  .  .  .74 

IX.  A  HUNTING  PARTY      .             ,  ,  .  .  .86 

X.  A  TENDER  CONSCIENCE            .  .  .  ,  .96 
XL  DAPHNE          .......  103 

XIL  FRANK  RADCLIFFE      .             .  .  .  .  .108 

Xm.  CHRISTMAS  EVE           .             .  .  .  .  .114 

XIV.  CHRISTMAS  TO  TWELFTH  NIGHT  .  .  .  .122 

XV.  NEW  year's  day      ......  132 

XVL  A  STRANGE  THING      .             .  .  .  .  .137 

XVIL  HE  LOVES  ME             .             ,  ,  .  .  ,144 

XVin.  A  CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE          .  .  .  .  .149 

XIX.  MY  DECISION               .             .  ,  .  ,  .156 

XX.  HER  ladyship's  LETTER       .  .  .  ,  .167 

XXL  MR.  HILYARD's  DREAM           .  .  .  .  .173 

XXII.  THE  FUGITIVE             .             .  .  .  .  .181 

XXin.  WHAT  WILL  HE  DO  ?  .             .  .  .  .  .  187 

XXIV.  THE  MEETING  AT  GREENRIG  .  .  .  .192 

XXV.  THE  FIRST  DAYS         .             .  .  ,  .  .197 
XXVI.  MR.  HILYARD  RETURNS           .....  204 

XXVIL  TO  LONDON    .......  217 

XXVIIL  LORD  CREWE.             ,             .  .  .  .  .226 

XXIX.  IN  LONDON  231 

XXX.  LADY  COWPER            .             .  •  •  .  .239 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXXI.  THE  UNFORTUNATE  MR.  PAUL             •            •             .             .  242 

XXXII.  A  NOBLE  PROJECT      .  .  .  .  .  ,251 

XXXIIL  IN  THE  TOWER           ......  255 

XXXIV.  MR.  HILYARD'S  FREEDOM       .....  260 

XXXV.  jenny's  SCHEME  266 

XXXVL  THE  lords'  TRIAL      ......  271 

xxxvn.  Frank's  attempt    ......  277 

xxxviii.  my  lord's  last  days        .....  283 

xxxix.  tom's  escape          ......  292 

XL.  THE  END        .             .             .             .             ,             .             ,  305 

POSISCUIPTUM             ......  310 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN. 

Those  who  are  so  happy  as  to  be  born  and  to  live  out  their 
appointed  time  in  the  North  Country  are  not  only  removed  from 
the  luxuries  and  vices  of  London,  but  also  from  that  wicked  modern 
fashion  of  scoffing  at  the  things  which  lie  beyond  man's  compre- 
hension, and  should  therefore  be  accounted  sacred.  We  of  Nor- 
thumberland certainly  do  not  pretend  disbelief  in  what  is  sufficiently 
proved,  but  cannot  be  understood.  Almost  everybody  (every 
woman,  indeed,  without  exception)  has  seen,  some  time  or  other, 
strange  and  wonderful  things  which  cannot  be  explained.  Some, 
it  is  true,  have  endeavoured  to  reason  these  things  away  by  pre- 
tending the  insensible  and  brute  action  of  chance  (among  them,  Mr. 
Hilyard  tells  me,  a  great  Latin  poet,  named  Lucretius),  which  is 
incredible  unless  we  allow  the  round  world  and  all  that  is  therein 
to  have  been  itself  constructed  and  set  a-going  by  accident.  Others, 
still  living,  attribute  the  stories  which  abound  among  us  to  foolish 
credulity  and  ignorant  superstition  ;  unto  such  persons  there  is  no 
answer  but  the  evidence  of  things  related  and  testified.  Others 
again,  whose  opinion  is  to  be  received  with  respect,  think  they 
perceive  in  them  the  workings  of  man's  Chief  Enemy.  Let  me, 
however,  for  my  own  part,  following  the  expressed  opinion  of  Mr. 
Hilyard  and  what  I  believe  to  have  been  that  of  my  lord  the  late 
bishop,  continue  to  think  that  what  is  permitted,  though  it  be  not 
understood,  must  be  received  with  reverence  and  without  too  close 
scrutiny,  as  doubtless  intended  for  no  other  purpose  than  a  merci- 
ful one,  videlicet^  the  admonition  of  the  guilty  and  the  encourage- 
ment of  the  virtuous. 

To  those,  again,  who  ask  (seeking  to  throw  discredit  upon  these 
beliefs  by  means  of  an  idle  laugh)  why  the  things  of  which  I  speak 
are  more  common  in  the  north  than  in  the  south  of  England — that 
is  to  say,  why  ghosts,  spectres,  witches,  warlocks,  elves,  demons- 

1 


2 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


fairies  or  f aws,  wauf s,  warnings,  and  other  strange  manifestations 
and  mysterious  powers,  continue  in  the  North  Country,  yet  are 
rarely  reported  from  the  Home  counties  or  south  of  Tyne — I  would 
venture  to  reply  that  (supposing  the  fact  to  be  so)  I  know,  indeed, 
of  no  other  reason  for  the  undoubted  favour  shown  to  us  in  this 
respect  than  the  great  superiority  of  Northumbrians  over  all  other 
Englishmen  in  the  matter  of  valour,  strength,  loyalty,  and  learning 
— I  mean,  of  course,  when  they  apply  themselves  to  study,  for,  as 
eveybody  knows,  the  gentlemen  of  the  north  are  fonder  of  sport 
than  of  books.  As  for  the  piety  of  my  people,  much  might  be  said 
and  much  confessed  or  allowed.  We  have,  doubtless,  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  hard  drinkers  and  ready  strikers  ;  and  we  are  also 
accused  of  smuggling  and  cattle-lifting.  These  charges  are  doubt- 
less true,  and  cannot  be  denied,  though  of  late  years  there  has  been 
amendment,  and  one  should  remember  that  there  has  never  been  a 
time  until  the  present  when  a  Northumberland  man  could  look  for 
continued  peace  or  respite  from  fighting  ;  nor  could  a  lich  man  lie 
down  at  night  with  any  certainty  that  he  might  not  awake  in  the 
morning  to  find  himself  a  poor  man,  his  cattle  lifted  and  his  barns 
fired  ;  nor  could  he  fall  asleep  with  an  assurance  that  he  would  not 
be  roused  at  night  by  the  blazing  turf,  and  have  to  boot  and  saddle 
and  ride  after  marauders,  pistol  in  holster,  sword  by  side,  and  fire- 
lock on  shoulder.  This  has  made  a  race  of  men  quick  to  fight  and 
careless  of  life,  since,  willy  nilly,  they  went  daily  in  peril ;  and 
many  families  there  are  whose  men,  until  a  hundred  years  ago, 
never  knew  what  it  was  to  die  in  their  beds.  So  much  must  be 
allowed  my  countrymen  as  an  excuse  for  their  readiness  to  strike. 
As  to  their  drinking,  true  it  is  that  the  gentiy  drink  much  wine  of 
France  and  Spain,  Rhenish,  claret,  and  mountain,  with  brandy, 
usquebaugh,  Hollands,  ale,  cider,  punch,  mum,  cordials,  and  strong 
waters  of  every  kind,  while  the  common  sort  follow  the  example  of 
their  betters  as  far  as  they  can  afford  (in  which  I  blame  them  not)  : 
but  still  our  rough  country  fellows  are  not,  so  far  as  I  know,  so 
drunken  as  the  rabble  of  London. 

And  as  for  religion,  I  dare  maintain  that  no  gentlemen  in 
England  go  to  church  with  greater  regularity  than  those  of  Nor- 
thumberland, or  more  dutifully  repeat  the  responses  ;  while  the 
country  people,  though  there  are  many  parts  where  there  is  no 
church  at  all  for  them,  do  still  keep  up  with  zeal  the  observance, 
with  all  customary  marks  of  respect,  of  the  great  days  of  the 
Church — that  is  to  say,  feasting  on  New  Year's  Day  and  Candle- 
mas, fighting  their  cocks  on  Shrove  Tuesday,  eating  parched  peac 
on  Carling  Sunday,  carrying  round  the  plough  at  Christmas,  getting 
up  to  see  the  sun  dance  at  Easter  Day,  on  May  Day  beating  the 
bounds,  according  to  ancient  custom  of  the  Church  ;  and  all  with 
the  drinking  of  ale  continually,  both  small  ale  and  October,  accord- 
ing  to  their  means,  and  plenty  of  honest  quarter-staff,  bull  and 
badger  baiting,  wrestling  and  boxing,  to  keep  up  the  spirits  of  the 
people.    Moreover,  there  are  among  us,  though  many  staunch 


THE  EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  ^ 


3 


Catholics,  few,  indeed,  of  the  vermin  who,  undei  the  name  of  Inde- 
pendents, Nonconformists,  Whigs,  and  what  not,  have  within  the 
last  eighty  years  murdered  one  King,  driven  another  from  his 
throne,  and  do  still  keep  a  third  from  the  noble  inheritance  and 
earthly  crown  which  are  his  by  Divine  Right.  These  reasons  seem 
to  me  quite  suflBicient,  without  further  inquiry,  to  account  for  the 
great  blessings  which  we  of  the  North  Country  enjoy  in  the  shape 
of  visits  and  messsages  from  the  dead,  supernatural  warnings,  with 
omens,  prognostications,  and  the  spirit  of  prophecy.  As  regards 
fairies  and  certain  strange  spectres  which  are  reported  to  linger 
among  our  old  ruins,  I  say  nothing  :  first,  because  I  cannot  under- 
stand the  purpose  served  in  the  Great  Universal  Scheme  by  the 
race  of  fairies  ;  and  next,  because,  as  regards  the  spectres,  it  is  a 
thing  incomprehensible  to  me  why  the  ghosts  of  mere  obscure  and 
lowly-born  persons,  such  as  Cuddy  the  Reaper,  or  Nelly  the  Knocker, 
should  be  allowed  so  great  a  distinction  as  to  continue  among  us, 
although  it  is  seemly  and  becoming  that  the  souls  of  great  persons, 
such  as  that  of  the  late  Countess  of  Derwentwater  (which  I  hear 
hath  been  recently  reported  to  have  been  seen  by  many  at  Dilston) 
should  be  allowed  to  remain  on  earth  as  long  as  they  please,  either 
for  the  sake  of  weeping  over  the  past,  or  of  lingering  in  spots  for- 
merly loved,  until  they  can  take  their  place  in  Heaven. 

On  the  Eve  of  St.  John,  in  the  year  1703,  when  Thomas  Forster, 
Esquire,  of  Etherston,  the  elder,  was  Sheriff  for  Northumberland, 
I,  Dorothy,  his  daughter,  was  at  the  Manor  House,  Banborough, 
where  I  was  staying  under  charge  of  my  old  nurse  Judith,  in  order 
to  see  the  Midsummer  Fire.  'Twas  the  same  year  in  which  my 
elder  brother  Thomas,  coming  of  age,  entered  into  possession  of 
that  noble  inheritance  of  the  Bamborough  estates,  to  which  he  was 
heir  in  comparency  with  my  aunt  Dorothy,  Lady  Crewe.  The 
estates  included  the  village  and  Manor  House,  with  the  castle  by 
the  sea,  and  a  great  many  other  lands,  manors,  farms,  and  houses, 
of  which  an  account  shall  presently  be  given.  The  house  on  this 
evening  was  filled  with  his  companions,  come  to  see  the  famous 
midnight  fire  ;  and  after  the  manner  of  young  gentlemen,  they 
were  killing  the  time  between  supper  and  twelve  of  the  clock  with 
drinking  and  singing. 

The  tire  was  built  every  year  upon  the  seashore  north  of  the 
castle,  where  a  broad  space  of  level  sand  lies  between  the  links  and 
the  water,  uncovered  even  at  high  tide.  The  custom  of  the  St. 
J ohn  Baptist's  Fire  goeth  back  beyond  the  memory  of  man — it  is 
so  ancient  that  its  origin  is  lost  :  it  is  so  much  esteemed  that  the 
folk  would  no  more  think  of  letting  it  be  forgotten  or  neglected 
than  the  girls  would  forget  to  dream  of  husbands  on  St.  Agnes' 
Eve,  or  to  hide  the  men's  shoes  on  Easter  morning.  Mr.  Hilyard, 
who  hath  always  something  to  say  concerning  the  ancient  world, 
will  have  it  that  the  Midsummer  Fire  is  nothing  in  the  world  but  a 
pagan  rite,  videlicet ^  a  fire  built  and  lit  in  honour  of  the  god  Baal, 


4 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


and  of  Phoenician  origin  ;  that  is  to  say,  it  came  from  Tyre,  of 
which  city  Hiram  once  was  king,  whose  sailors  navigated  the  world 
in  the  service  of  Solomon,  as  is  very  well  known,  bringing  to  the 
harbours  of  the  Holy  Land  gold  from  India  and  tin  from  Britain. 
For  which  reason,  he  saith,  and  in  lasting  remembrance  of  that 
wise  Prince,  the  Church  hath  done  well  to  continue  the  practice, 
and  to  place  under  the  protection  of  St.  John  Baptist  that  rite 
which  formerly  was  part  of  the  worship  of  a  false  god,  and  would, 
therefore,  without  such  protection,  lay  open  those  who  practise 
it  to  the  wiles  and  temptations  of  the  enemy. 

From  all  quarters  the  people  come  a  holiday-making,  and  to  see 
the  Bamborough  Fire.  They  come  from  Lucker  and  from  Spindle- 
ton,  from  the  Sea  Houses  of  North  Sunderland,  from  Belf ord,  which 
is  six  miles  away,  and  from  Ellingham,  which  is  ten.  It  is  the  chief 
annual  festival  at  Bamborough,  even  greater  than  the  Hagameny 
carrying  of  the  plough  at  Alnwick  ;  the  gipsies  come  and  set  up 
tents  upon  the  sands  ;  there  is  always  a  travelling  show  or  two, 
with  men  who  do  strange  things,  and  booths  where  gingerbread  is 
sold ;  and  there  is  all  day  long  cock-fighting,  with  cudgelling, 
quarter-staff,  and  wrestling.  The  rustics  come  at  daybreak,  the 
farmers  ride  into  the  place  early  in  the  day,  and  there  is  a  vast  deal 
of  drinking,  eating,  and  singing  long  before  the  time  comes  for 
firing  the  pile.  The  younger  men  build  up  the  pile  with  wood, 
artfully  laying  dry  branches  and  twigs  over  and  among  the  big  logs, 
so  as  to  raise  a  sudden  and  lofty  flame  ;  the  boys  look  on  and  run 
about,  and  tease  and  fight  each  other  ;  the  girls  are  making  wreaths 
and  garlands  with  midsummer  rush,  vervain,  and  St.  John's  wort  ; 
the  older  women  and  matrons  stand  together  and  talk.  It  is  a 
subject  for  gratitude  to  think  how  simple  are  the  pleasures  of 
country  women,  since  a  long  talk  is,  to  most,  their  chief  relaxation 
and  delight  ;  their  husbands,  poor  souls,  must  still  be  drinking  or 
smoking  tobacco,  or  looking  on  at  fights  or  banging  each  other  with 
quarter-staves.  As  for  the  older  men,  if  they  are  of  the  better 
sort,  they  sit  together  in  the  inn  ;  and  if  they  are  of  the  lower 
kind,  they  commonly  lean  against  door-posts,  each  with  a  pannikin 
in  his  hand,  and  slowly  drink  and  slowly  speak  (because  a  rustic's 
words  are  few,  though  his  wisdom  is  great)  in  the  soft  Northumbrian 
burr,  which  I,  for  one,  have  ever  loved  so  much,  and  cannot,  if  I 
would,  lay  aside.  The  ingenious  Mr.  De  Foe  hath  lately  called  it  a 
'  hollow  jawing  in  the  throat,'  which  is,  by  his  leave,  a  rude  and 
ignorant  way  of  describing  it,  and  more  fitly  applied  to  the  rough 
talk  of  the  Border  Scotch.  It  is  a  way  of  speaking  which  cannot 
be  set  down  on  paper,  therefore  all  that  follows  is  written  as  if  it 
had  been  spoken  in  the  mincing,  affected  way  of  St.  James  Street, 
ur  the  rough  tongue  of  the  London  Mob 

*  Gh,  nurse  !'  I  cried,  *  when  will  it  be  midnight 

*  Patience,  lass,'  replied  the  old  woman.  '  Time  is  a  sluggard  for 
the  young,  but  for  the  old  he  gallops.' 


THE  EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN. 


5 


I  was  sitting  in  the  parlour  with  my  old  nurse  Judith,  waiting 
impatiently  for  the  time  ;  the  loud  talk  of  the  gentlemen  was  heard 
from  the  dining-room.  Presently  my  eyelids  began  to  close,  and 
my  restless  fingers  became  still.  Then  my  head  fell  upon  the  tall 
back  of  the  chair,  and  I  was  asleep.  Nurse  let  me  sleep  till  the 
clock  struck  two- quarters  after  eleven,  when  she  awoke  me,  put  on 
my  hat,  and  tied  a  handkerchief  about  my  neck,  and  so  we  sallied 
forth.  As  we  left  the  house,  the  cold  air,  the  shouts  of  the  people 
outside,  and  the  singing  of  the  gentlemen  within — 

*  When  candlesticks  they  serve  for  bells  ; 

And  frying-pans  they  use  for  ladles  ; 
And  in  the  sea  they  dig  for  wells  ; 

And  porridge -pots  they  use  for  cradles — * 

completely  awakened  me,  and  I  shivered,  threw  up  my  head,  and 
felt  no  more  sleepiness,  and  ran,  laughing  and  shouting,  to  the 
sand-hills  from  which  I  was  to  see  the  show. 

The  night  was  clear,  with  never  a  cloud,  and  a  bright  full  moon 
riding  in  the  sky — yet  in  this  season,  even  at  midnight,  it  is  so  light 
that  there  needs  no  moon.  The  wind  had  dropped,  and  the  waves, 
which  sometimes  break  so  high  and  terrible  on  this  coast,  were  now 
little  ripples  which  rolled  along  the  sand  in  a  whisper.  Above  the 
sands  the  great  castle  stood,  a  grand  sight  to  behold,  its  rugged 
walls  either  showing  white  in  the  moonlight,  or,  where  in  deep 
shadow,  black  and  gloomy,  until  the  red  blaze  of  the  bonfire 
presently  lit  them  up,  and  made  them  yet  more  awful. 

The  sands  were  crowded  with  the  noisy  people.  In  the  midst 
stood  the  great  pile  waiting  for  the  torch.  Everybody  was  talking, 
laughing,  shouting,  and  singing.  Upon  the  sea  there  lay  a  broad 
belt  of  white  moonlight,  very  pretty  to  look  upon.  To  me,  think- 
ing of  what  Mr.  Hilyard  had  told  me,  it  seemed  that  perhaps  when 
King  Solomon's  sailors  came  they  may  have  built  their  idolatrous 
fire  on  the  same  place,  and  by  the  light  of  the  same  moon.  But 
perhaps  there  were  then  as  yet  no  Forsters  in  Northumberland. 
They  are,  it  may  be  admitted,  of  later  date  than  the  age  of  Solomon 
and  King  Hiram.  Perhaps,  too,  there  was  no  castle.  It  seemed 
to  me  a  great  pity  that  Solomon's  sailors  should  come  so  far  and 
not  be  able  to  see  the  castle  after  all  ;  and  this,  although  they  had 
the  glories  of  the  Temple  should  they  get  home  in  safety  to  the 
ports  of  Joppa,  Sidon,  and  Tyre.  But  then  the  clock  struck  twelve, 
and  suddenly  the  fiire  blazed  up,  and  in  a  moment  seized  on  the 
whole  of  the  pile,  and  rolled  upward  in  vast  great  tongues  of  flame, 
with  a  cracking  and  roaring  very  frightful  to  behold  and  hear. 

'  Thus,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard  once,  '  thus  the  false  prophets  on 
Carmel  danced  and  shouted  round  their  altars  ;  through  such  a  fire 
the  children  were  passed.' 

Indeed,  when  one  remembers  the  wild  faces  of  the  men  and 
women  who  leaped  about  that  fire,  there  remains  no  doubt  that  in 
the  madness  caused  by  the  blaze  and  roar  of  the  flames,  and  the 


6 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


drink  they  had  taken,  and  the  shouts  and  dancing,  it  needed  little 
to  make  even  our  own  people  toss  their  little  ones  through  the  flames, 
as,  it  is  said,  but  I  know  not  with  what  truth,  is  done  to  this  day  by 
the  wild  Kerns  of  Ireland. 

In  half  an  hour  the  first  fury  of  the  flames  was  spent,  the  small 
branches  being  all  burnt,  and  there  remained  only  the  steady 
burning  of  the  big  logs.  And  then  the  young  men  began  to  leap 
with  shouts  across  the  fire,  and  the  girls  threw  their  wreaths  upon 
it  and  sang  again,  and  again  danced  round  and  round  the  pile. 
Let  us  go,  Judith,'  said  I,  frightened  by  all  this  shouting. 

'Wait,  child,'  the  old  woman  replied.  'Wait,  my  dearie  ;  they 
are  going  to  bring  out  the  Midsummer  Witch.  We  will  go  down 
and  learn  thy  fortune.' 

At  this  point,  indeed,  there  was  a  rush  of  the  boys,  always  the 
most  zealous  in  every  ceremony  or  public  entertainment,  across 
the  sands,  over  which  was  now  seen  approaching  a  procession  of 
half-a-dozen  girls,  walking  slowly,  and  singing  a  kind  of  hymn.  In 
their  midst,  as  one  could  presently  discern,  there  walked  a  girl 
dressed  all  in  white,  and  veiled  from  head  to  foot.  Her  com- 
panions were  carrying,  according  to  custom,  wreaths  of  vervain, 
midsummer  rush,  St.  John's  wort,  and  mother- wort. 

*  'Tis  Jenny  Lee,'  said  Nurse  Judith,  half  to  herself.  '  They  told 
me  she  was  to  be  the  St.  John's  Eve  Witch.  A  proper  witch,  I 
warrant.  As  for  her  father,  sure  he  gave  a  love-drink  to  her 
mother,  else  how  should  an  honest  farmer's  wench  go  follow  a 
gipsy  tramp,  even  though  he  wedded  her  in  church  and  called  him- 
self the  king  of  his  thievish  people,  and  was,  as  a  body  might  say, 
as  well  set  up  a  man  with  as  fine  a  leg  as  a  woman  can  desire,  and 
as  proud  as  Lucifer — Lord  forgive  us  !  And  on  Midsummer  Eve  !' 
She  looked  round  as  if  she  expected  something  fearful  with  claws 
and  fiery  eyes,  and  crossed  herself — a  Papistical  custom,  but  com- 
mon in  Northumberland,  '  If  you  want  a  witch,  you  needn't  go 
farther  than  his  daughter.  They  say  she  can  do  things  already  for 
which  in  the  old  times  a  poor  old  woman  would  be  burned — my 
own  great- grandmother  for  one,  in  King  James's  time.  But  that's 
a  hundred  years  ago,  and  the  world  is  changed.  Witches  can  come 
and  go  without  let  or  hindrance,  which  is  a  shame  in  a  Christian 
country.  Yet  it  is  a  blessed  thing  to  live  in  times  when  there  is 
no  fear  of  being  burned  for  a  witch  when  you  are  only  old  and 
toothless.  Did  I  tell  you,  my  dearie,  how  I  once  saw  a  witch  fly 
across  the  moon,  broomstick  and  all  ?' 

She  had  often  told  me  that  story  ;  but  even  at  that  tender  age 
I  could  not  believe  how  a  cloud,  as  it  seemed  to  everybody  else, 
should  be  to  her  a  witch  astride  of  a  broomstick. 

'  To  tell  fortunes,'  Judith  went  on,  '  one  must  either  be  a  witch 
or  a  gipsy.  Jenny  is  both  gipsy  and  witch,  they  say.  Look  ! 
Here  comes  his  honour  with  the  gentlemen  and  Mr.  Hilyard. 

As  the  procession  came  across  the  sands,  the  white- veiled  figure 
looking  strange  and  ghastly  in  the  moonlight,  the  gentlemen  came 


THE  EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN. 


7 


out  of  the  house  and  walked  arm-in-arm  down  the  street  towards 
the  shore.  My  brother  Tom,  it  may  be  supposed,  had  taken  a  glass 
more  than  the  strength  of  his  head  allowed,  for  he  staggered  a  little 
as  he  went.  With  him  were  two  or  three  of  his  friends — Ned 
Swinburne  and  Jack  Swinburne,  brothers  of  Sir  William  of 
Capheaton  ;  Mad  Jack  Hall,  of  Otterbourne,  whose  presence  always 
foreboded  misfortune  to  the  Forsters  ;  young  Mr.  Peregrine  Wid- 
drington,  brother  to  my  lord  ;  and  Mr.  Antony  Hilyard,  Tom's 
former  tutor.    They  all  trooped  along  together,  noisily  laughing. 

By  this  time  the  girls  had  placed  the  Midsummer  Witch  on  a 
sort  of  throne  or  stool  of  state  covered  with  red  cloth  and  flowers  < 

'The  Midsummer  Witch  must  be  a  maid,'  said  Judith,  'and  a 
firstborn  child,  else  the  spell  will  not  work.' 

They  placed  in  her  hand  a  vessel  of  some  kind  with  a  long  and 
narrow  neck. 

'  It  is  filled  with  water,^  continued  Judith,  '  drawn  by  herself 
from  the  sea  on  this  very  evening.  Now,  child,  double  thumb  and 
come  along.' 

Everybody  knows  that  to  double  your  thumb  in  your  right  hand 
averts  danger.  I  complied,  and  thus  secured  we  ran  down  the 
hillock,  and  joined  the  group. 

The  villagers  were  standing  round  their  newly-made  witch  in  a 
respectful  ring,  the  middle  of  which  was  occupied  by  Tom  and  his 
friends. 

'  Now,  fair  witch  and  pretty  sorceress,'  said  he,  pretending  not 
to  know  the  veiled  girl,  '  tell  us  our  fortunes,  and  we  will  reward 
thee  with  a  kiss,  if  your  ghostship  allows  us  to  see  your  face.' 

But  everybody  knew  very  well  who  was  the  witch. 

'  Your  honour  must  put  something  of  your  own  in  the  jar,  said 
J  udith. 

Meantime  the  veiled  girl  sat  as  if  she  heard  nothing  ;  in  her  lap 
the  jar,  and  her  hands  folded  round  it. 

'  Drop  your  ring  in  it,'  whispered  Judith,  '  No  need  to  tell  her 
your  name  or  the  name  of  any  gentleman.  She  is  veiled,  and 
cannot  see.' 

Mr.  Forster  drew  a  signet-ring,  engraved  with  his  arms,  from  his 
finger,  and  placed  it  in  the  narrow-necked  jar. 

'  Now,'  he  said,  laughing,  '  tell  me  the  fortune  of  the  ring  and 
its  owner.' 

She  put  her  hand  into  the  vessel,  and  took  out  the  ring.  Then 
she  replied  slowly,  as  if  she  were  looking  for  words  fitting  the 
fortune  she  was  to  tell  : 

*  Great  place,  great  chase  :  near  the  grave,  yet  one  to  save. 
Great  name,  great  blame  ;  far  off  to  die,  at  home  to  lie.* 

That  was  a  strange  fortune  :  what  could  it  mean  ? 
'  I  said  she  was  a  witch,'  murmured  Judith.    '  Take  back  your 
ring,  sir.' 

The  girl  held  out  her  open  hand.  Strange  !  the  stone  had  fallen 
from  the  ring,  and  lay  upon  her  palm. 


8 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


*  Lucky,'  said  my  brother,  *  that  it  did  not  fall  in  the  sand-  The 
sea-water  loosened  it.  "  G-reat  name," '  he  continued,  a  little 
sobered  ;  '  what  is  it  ?  "  Great  blame,"  or  great  fame  " — "  far 
off  to  die  " — well,  what  man  can  die  more  than  once  ?  "  At  home 
to  lie  "—one  would  wish  to  lie  with  one's  own  people.  "  Great 
blame  !" — who  cares  for  blame  ?  A  good  fortune  this.  Now,  Ned, 
try  your  luck.' 

Mr.  Edward  Swinburne,  a  young  man  of  my  brother's  age  or 
thereabouts,  stepped  forward,  and  placed  a  piece  of  money  in  the 
jar. 

Said  the  girl,  taking  out  the  money  : 

*  Prison  walls  and  prison-bed  ; 
Who  lies  there  is  stark  and  dead.* 

*  I  wish  to  heaven,  Tom,'  said  the  young  man  angrily,  *  thit  we 
had  stayed  at  home,  and  sat  out  t'other  bottle.' 

Then  Perry  Widdrington  took  his  place. 

The  oracle  was  more  pleasant  to  hear.  The  voice  of  the  girl  was 
low,  and  she  never  moved  the  whole  time  : 

*  Danger  by  land  and  danger  by  sea  : 
Yet  your  death  at  last  in  your  bed  shall  be.* 

*  Thank  you  for  nothing,  witch,'  said  Peregrine,  stepping  back, 

'  As  for  me,'  said  mad  Jack  Hall,  whom  none  of  the  Forsters, 
except  Tom.  loved,  because  his  presence  seems  to  bode  misfortune 
to  us  —  besides,  a  man  of  forty  had  no  business  drinking  and 
cirousing  with  these  young  men — '•  as  for  me,  I  will  have  none  of 
thy  fortune,  good  nor  bad.  There's  plenty  good  and  plenty  bad  in 
the  locker.  Good  or  bad,  what  matters,  so  there's  beef  on  board 
and  drink  in  can  ?' 

His  rosy  face  looked  as  if  he  had  already  taken  as  much  drink 
out  of  the  can  as  he  could  well  hold. 

'  Come,  brave  toper — come,  my  lusty  Tony,'  cried  the  lad  Pere- 
g'ine,  clapping  Mr.  Hilyard  on  the  shoulder  :  '  try  thy  fortune, 
man !' 

The  young  man  ought  to  have  shown  more  reverence  to  the 
scholar,  but  learning  and  Perry  Widdrington  did  not  indeed  regard 
each  other  with  respect.  Besides,  the  truth  is  that  Mr.  Hilyard 
was  himself  somewhat  inclined  to  stagger  as  he  went. 

Mr.  Hilyard  was  a  young  man  then,  although  so  learned. 
Perhaps  he  was  about  five  or  six-and-twenty.  He  wore  no  hat,  his 
wig  was  awry  and  out  of  curl  ;  his  cheeks  were  red,  his  neckcloth 
was  disordered  ;  he  stood  behind  the  others,  as  if  he  did  not  by 
right  of  birth  (which  was  the  case)  belong  to  them.  His  merry 
laughing  face,  when  the  fire  lit  it  up,  seemed  filled  with  the  joy  of 
wine  and  song  :  the  poet  Anacreon  (whose  verses  he  afterwards 
translated)  could  not  have  been  more  jovial  to  look  upon.  His 
nose  was  broad,  his  lips  full  ;  his  eyes  were  large,  his  figure  short 
and  squab. 

'  My  fortune  ?'  he  asked,  with  a  laugh— though  why  should  ho 


THE  EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN, 


9 


laugh  over  so  grave  a  matter  as  his  own  fate  ?  *  My  fortune  ? 
What  better  fortune  than  to  drink  and  royster  among  the  gentle- 
men of  Northumberland  ?' 

However,  he  placed  a  coin  in  the  girl's  jar,  and  waited  as  if  he 
was  ready  for  anything  besides  that  fortune  might  have  for  him. 

*  Fortune  has  no  more  to  give  me,'  Mr.  Hilyard  said  presently. 
'  Or,  if  anything,  she  keeps  it  concealed  in  a  basket,  as  the  Egyptian 
his  secret,  who,  to  one  asking,  replied,  "  Since  thou  seest  it  covered 
what  impudence  is  this,  to  inquire  into  a  hidden  thing  ?"  Keep 
silence,  priestess.' 

But  the  girl  gave  his  fortune  : 

*  Love  a  fair  girl  all  your  life, 
Yet  shalt  never  have  a  wife. 
Thou  shalt  rise  and  she  shall  fall ; 
Fear  not  thou  wilt  top  them  all.* 

'  Why,*  cried  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  here  is  an  excellent  fortune  indeed  ! 
Good  Sybil,  I  thank  thee.  Yet  Haman  rose  and  topped  them  all. 
So  did  Stylites,  and  so  doth  Steeple  Jack.  So  does  every  poor 
devil  at  Tyburn  Tree.  Nevertheless,  I  thank  thee.  Delphic  oracles 
are  ever  obscure.  And  there  are  many  ways  of  rising — did  one 
only  know  them.' 

'Enough  fooling,'  said  my  brother.  *  Judith,  give  the  girl  a 
shilling  for  her  trouble.'  He  tossed  her  the  coin.  '  Come,  Ned — 
come,  Peregrine — come,  Jack!  Let  us  go  back  and  crack  t'other 
bottle.' 

They  returned  as  they  had  come,  arm-in-arm,  tramping  up  the 
road,  and  the  scholar  began  to  sing  as  they  went.  He  had  a  clear, 
sweet  voice  : 

*  He  drank  till  night,  and  he  drank  till  noon, 

The  thirst  in  his  gullet  was  such  ; 
He  never  could  drink  a  drop  too  soon — too  soon  : 
And  never,  never,  never — no  never — 
Never  a  drop  too  much.' 

I  whispered,  *  Judith,'  when  they  were  quite  gone,  *  let  me  now 
try  my  fortune,  too.    Is  it  not  my  turn  now  ?' 
But  Judith  was  shaking  her  head. 

'  That  shall  you  not,'  she  said  angrily.  *  Here  is  a  fine  Mid- 
summer Witch  for  you,  with  her  bad  luck  for  everybody  !  Heard 
one  ever  the  like  ?  I  would  duck  her  in  the  sea  for  two  straws. 
And  for  all  these  gallant  gentlemen,  too  !' 

'  Oh,  nurse  !'  But  the  oracle  sat  as  if  she  heard  not.  ^  Nurse,  1 
must  have  my  fortune  told — I  must  indeed.' 

'Yes — yes,'  cried  the  women  of  the  village,  pressing  round. 
'  Miss  Dorothy's  fortune  !  Let  us  have  Miss  Dorothy's  fortune, 
too.' 

Judith  gave  way.  She  was  as  curious  as  the  rest  to  krow  what 
this  wonderful  Midsummer  Witch  w^ould  say.  Yet  she  was 
afraid. 


lO 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


*Hast  ever  a  crooked  pin  about  thee,  child  T  she  asked.  *So— 
this  will  do.  Drop  it  in  the  jar.  Now — double  thumb  again, 
child; 

The  girl  once  more  put  her  hand  into  the  jar,  and  brought  out 
the  pin.  As  for  me,  I  waited  in  a  strange  expectancy.  Oh,  what 
would  she  give  me  ?  For  the  moment  I  felt  as  if  this  farmer's 
wench,  whose  father  was  but  a  common  gipsy,  actually  knew  the 
will  of  Heaven  and  could  control  the  future.  Impious  thought ! 
And  yet — it  is  truly  wonderful — one  knows  not  how — one  cannot 
say  why — the  predictions  of  humble  women  are  so  often  fufilled. 
Nurse  Judith's  great-grandmother — the  one  who  was  burned  for  a 
witch — predicted,  as  everybody  still  remembers,  the  tempest  which 
blew  down  the  roof  of  Belford  Church,  and  on  her  way  to  the 
stake  foretold  a  sudden  and  violent  death  for  him  v/ho  bore  witness 
against  her.  Wonderful  to  relate,  the  man  was,  only  a  year  after- 
wards, done  to  death  in  a  fray  with  the  Redesdale  men.  Yet  that 
little  Jenny  Lee,  a  milkmaid,  a  dairymaid,  who  dropped  me  a 
curtsey  when  she  passed  me — that  she  should — it  was  impossible  ! 
What  she  said,  however,  was  ambiguous  enough  for  any  fortune  : 

*  Lovers  one,  and  two,  and  three, 
Lovers  of  high  and  of  low  degree, 
None  of  them  all  shall  her  husband  be.* 

If  none  of  my  lovers  was  to  become  my  husband,  I  thought,  whom 
should  I  have  to  marry  ? 

*  Poor  lass !'  the  women  murmured.  '  'Tis  a  strange  unlucky 
night  for  the  quality.' 

It  is  a  foolish  thing  that  one  should  remember  such  a  childish 
play,  but  I  never  forgot  any  of  the  fortunes  told  on  that  Mid- 
summer Eve.  Nor,  I  think,  did  my  nurse,  as  long  as  she  lived, 
which  was  for  ten  years  more.  But  now  Judith  dragged  me  away 
roughly,  though  the  oracle  had  not  yet  finished  telling  the  fortunes. 

'  Come,  child,'  she  said.  '  It  is  bed-time.  Fuss  enough  made 
about  a  girl  ;  silly  talk — though  'tis  St.  John's  Eve  and  all.  Come, 
Dorothy  !  a  maid  of  ten  has  got  nothing  to  do  with  lovers.  Lovers, 
indeed  !    Who  ever  heard  of  such  things  ?' 

She,  however,  did  heed  them  very  much,  for  her  lips  kept  mutter- 
ing as  we  came  away  from  the  great  fire,  round  which  the  country 
people  were  now  pressing  and  crowding  together  to  know  their  for- 
tune. What  J enny  told  them,  I  know  not,  but  there  now  arose 
shouts  of  laughter.  Yet  to  me  it  seemed  as  if  they  ought  not  to 
laugh  when  such  melancholy  fortunes  had  been  told,  and  while  the 
great  fire — the  fire  of  Baal — was  still  burning  clear  and  bright,  a 
terrible  thing  to  look  upon,  just  as  it  had  done  long  ago  when 
Solomon's  sailors  landed  here,  before  King  Ida  built  the  castle,  and 
before  ever  a  Forster  was  seen  in  the  North  Country. 

*  "  Far  off  to  die,  at  home  to  lie,"  '  Judith  muttered.  *  What  did 
the  child  mean  ?  Where  did  she  learn  it  ?  I  hope  his  honour  may 
not  be  disturbed  by  such  a  thing.' 


THE  EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN. 


II 


His  honour  was  not,  because,  with  his  companions,  he  was  put  to 
bed  that  night  too  drunk  to  remember  anything. 

'  Why,  to  be  sure,'  the  nurse  went  on,  '  it  is  only  a  play.  And 
yet  it  is  an  old  play,  and  we  must  never  let  it  drop,  or  bad  luck 
will  come  to  us.  Nobody  knows  who  is  abroad  on  such  a  night  as 
this.  Spirits  whisper — I  felt  a  cold  breath  on  my  own  cheek  just 
now.    'Tis  a  fearful  night.    Say  prayers,  my  dear,  and  get  to  sleep.' 

Late  as  I  had  gone  to  bed,  I  was  up  betimes  and  dressed  by  six. 
When  I  went  down  the  stairs  I  found  Mr.  Hilyard  already  up,  and 
talking  with  no  other  than  the  girl  Jenny  Lee  herself  at  the  door. 

I  know  not  whether  he  had  been,  like  the  others,  drunk  the  night 
before.  He  was  quite  sober  now,  and  composed  and  grave  in  his 
manner,  as  becomes  a  scholar  and  was  his  wont  in  the  morning 
But  his  eyes  were  red,  as  sometimes  happens  after  much  wine. 

*  Come,  girl,'  he  was  saying,  '  thou  shalt  not  put  me  off  with  non- 
sense.   Who  taught  thee  the  rhymes  ?' 

Jenny  was  a  tall  girl  of  twelve  or  thirteen,  who  might  have  been 
seventeen,  so  well  grown  was  she.  Judith  called  her  a  gipsy  :  her 
father,  who  was  dead,  belonged  to  that  race.  She  had  a  gipsy's 
black  hair  and  bright  black  eyes  ;  also  a  gipsy's  swarthy  skin,  red 
lips,  and  white  teeth.  She  bore  on  her  head  a  pail  of  milk.  When 
Mr.  Hilyard  spoke  to  her  she  looked  confused,  and  hesitated. 

'  Come,'  he  said.  '  Here  is  little  Miss  Dorothy.  As  you  hope 
for  any  favour  from  this  young  lady,  tell  us  where  you  learned  those 
fortunes.' 

*  Perhaps  they  were  whispered  by  the  spirits,'  said  the  girl  im- 
pudently. 'Everybody  knows  that  on  St.  John's  Eve  the  good 
people  are  about.' 

'  Perhaps  they  were  not  whispered.  Perhaps  I  know  where  they 
came  from.' 

I  suppose  there  was  something  in  his  look  which  she  read,  because 
she  dropped  her  eyes. 

'  Telling  misfortunes  to  gentlefolk  is  no  laughing  matter,  my 
girl.  Such  prophecies  sometimes  bring  their  own  fulfilment.  It  is 
recorded  of  Marius — but  that  concerns  thee  not.  Who  was  it, 
Jenny  ?' 

*  Granny,'  she  whispered.    '  Grranny.    Oh,  she  is  a  proper  witch  !' 

*  Of  course,  I  knew  it,'  he  replied.  '  Yet  I  saw  none  of  your 
people  among  the  gipsies  yesterday.' 

She  replied  that,  in  fact,  they  were  in  trouble,  one  of  them  having 
been  unjustly  hanged  for  stealing  a  sheep  (the  whole  tribe  being 
ready  to  swear  an  alibi) ^  and  another  having  been  recently  flogged 
through  the  town  of  Berwick-upon-Tweed  ;  and  that  as  regards 
Bamborough,  the  last  time  they  were  camped  in  that  place  there 
were  so  many  complaints  about  pigs,  geese,  and  even  cows  dying 
suddenly  and  mysteriously  (their  bodies  being  taken  away  by  the 
gipsies  and  eaten),  and  so  many  threats  of  throwing  the  old  woman 
into  the  pond  for  a  witch,  that  they  were  afraid  of  coming  any 


12 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


nearer.  She  was  indeed — T  knew  her  well — a  most  wonderful  and 
terrible  old  woman  to  look  at,  being  doubled  up  with  rheumatism, 
and  wrinkled  and  puckered  in  the  face  very  curiously,  yet  with  a 
pair  of  coal-black  eyes  which  shone  like  fire. 

'  She  cast  the  fortunes  of  the  gentlemen  and  Miss  Dorothy  with 
the  cards,'  Jenny  Lee  went  on  ;  '  and  yours  too,  sir.  Oh,  granny's 
words  come  true — every  one  !' 

'  AVhere  did  your  people  come  from  last  ?'  asked  Mr.  Hilyard. 

'  They  came  from  Lancashire,  by  way  of  Shotley  ;  and  they  are 
going  to  Wooler  first,  and  then  across  the  Cheviots  and  to  Jed- 
burgh.' 

*  From  Lancashire.' 

Mr.  Hilyard  stroked  his  chin  and  lookod  grave.  Presently  he 
began  to  speak  with  her  eagerly  in  a  tongue  which  I  did  not  under- 
stand. Yet  I  knew  very  well  that  it  was  the  language  of  the  gipsy 
folk,  and  that  Mr.  Hilyard  could  talk  it,  being  a  most  ingenious 
gentleman  who  could  speak  many  languages,  such  as  Dutch  and 
French,  and  even  thieves'  tongue,  which  they  call  Canting.  This 
he  learned  in  London,  while  lurking  (at  great  risk  of  being  knocked 
o'  the  head)  among  the  thieves  and  rogues  of  that  great  and  wicked 
city.  I  believe  there  were  also  other  weighty  reasons,  known  to 
Oxford  vintners  and  others  who  had  trusted  him,  why  for  a  time 
he  should  lie  snug.  You  will  hear  presently  how  a  person  so  learned 
and  of  such  curious  accomplishments  became  a  resident  in  our  house, 
and  our  dependent. 

After  a  serious  talk,  Jenny  went  away,  dropping  me  a  curtsey 
without  letting  the  pail  fall  from  her  head,  or  a  drop  of  milk  to  be 
spilled.    Then  Mr.  Hilyard  hemmed  twice,  and  said  : 

*  I  was  saying  to  the  girl,  Miss  Dorothy,  that  the  poultry  of 
Bamboroughshire  must  not  be  stolen,  or  rogues  will  meet  their 
deserts.' 

This  he  may  have  said  among  other  things,  but  I  knew  very  well 
indeed  that  he  had  sent  a  much  more  important  message.  In  those 
days  of  unquiet,  when  there  were  secret  communications  and  letters 
constantly  passing  from  hand  to  hand,  and  especially  between  Lan- 
cashire and  Northumberland,  even  a  child  could  understand  that  in 
some  way  or  other  Mr.  Hilyard  and  the  old  gipsy  woman  were  con- 
cerned in  letter-carrying. 

*  It  is  strange,'  he  went  on,  speaking  gravely,  and  with  his  eyes 
fixed,  as  if  he  was  reading  from  a  book,  which  was  his  way — '  it  is 
strange  that  the  girl  doth  not  forget  the  language  of  her  father's 
people,  though  her  mother  brought  her  away  so  young.  Much  I 
fear  that  when  she  grows  older  she  will  leave  the  ways  of  Christian 
folk  and  follow  with  the  camp.  'Tis  a  strange  wild  people  !  Nor 
hath  it  ever  been  made  certain  whence  they  came  or  where  they 
were  first  seen,  though  some  say  Bohemia  and  some  say  Egypt. 
As  for  their  language,  which  I  have  been  at  some  pains  to  learn, 
that  seems  to  have  in  it  something  of  the  Chaldsean.  Meantime 
forget,  child,  the  pretended  oracles  of  this  gipsy  Delphic.    As  for 


THE  EVE  OF  ST.  JOHN. 


13 


his  honour,  your  brother,  he  will  doubtless  in  some  way  achieve 
greatness,  as  his  grandfather  before  him,  Sir  William,  sheriff  of  the 
county  ;  and  what  the  witch  says  is  true,  that  great  name  brings 
great  blame.  Themistocles  is  recorded  to  have  compared  himself 
to  a  tree,  the  leaves  of  which  are  plucked  by  every  passer-by  ;  yet 
in  days  of  heat  they  all  run  to  it  for  shelter.  And  as  for  prophecy, 
every  man  is  Faher  Fortunce,  or  maker  of  his  own  fortune,  which 
is  the  reason  why  some  do  spoil  themselves  in  haste  and  hurry  of 
making  ;  so  that  we  may  admire  the  wisdom  of  Vespasian,  who 
stamped  his  coin  with  a  dolphin  and  an  anchor,  and  the  legend. 
Soon  enough  if  well  enough.  Forget  the  oracles,  child  :  seek  not  to 
know  the  intentions  of  Providence  :  and  doubtless  when  your 
brother  and  the  gentlemen  are  ready  to  take  their  breakfast,  they 
will  have  forgotten,  by  reason  of  the  potency  of  his  honour's  port, 
the  predictions  of  last  night.' 

It  is,  indeed,  as  difficult  to  keep  a  gentleman  of  Northumberland 
from  wine  as  a  woman  from  talk. 

*  The  goats  of  Candia,'  Mr.  Hilyard  resumed,  stroking  his  chin, 
and  changing  his  manner,  '  being  shot  with  an  arrow,  straightway 
choose  the  herb  dittany  in  order  to  cure  the  wound  ;  the  tortoise, 
having  eaten  a  viper,  seeks  for  wild  marjoram  ;  the  dragon,  when 
his  sight  fails,  cleans  his  eyes  with  fennel.  Cranes,  for  the  good  of 
the  stomach,  drink  sea- water.  Tiie  wise  man,  Miss  Dorothy,  after 
a  bottle  or  two  of  port  over-night,  taketh  a  tankard  of  small-beer 
in  the  morning.' 

He  disappeared,  in  search  of  his  remedy,  and  I  saw  him  no  more 
that  morning.  At  noon  the  gentlemen  took  their  breakfast,  and 
presently  rode  away  all  together,  laughing  and  shouting,  and  I 
never  heard  from  any  of  them  mention  or  remembrance  of  this 
oracle  of  St.  John's  Eve, 


CHAPTEH  11. 

THE  FORSTERS. 

There  are  in  Northumberland  (one  may  thank  Heaven  for  it)  as 
many  Forsters  as  there  are  Fenwicks,  and  more.  First,  it  hath 
been  said,  but  irreverently,  the  Lord  made  Adam  and  Eve  ;  and 
then  He  made  the  Forsters.  They  are,  indeed,  as  ancient  a  family 
as  any  in  the  county  ;  as  ancient  in  the  county  as  the  Percys,  who 
belong  also  to  Sussex,  and  are  now  swallowed  up  by  the  Seymours  ; 
or  the  Radclilf es,  who  came  from  Cumberland.  The  ancient  and 
original  seat  of  the  Forsters  from  time  im.memorial  has  beenatEther- 
ston,  which  is,  being  interpreted,  the  Adder  Stone.  An  old  ring  of 
the  family,  now  in  possession  of  my  brother,  John  Forster,  Esquire, 
of  Etherston,  commemorates  the  origin  of  the  name,  being  shaped 
like  unto  a  twisted  viper  with  his  tail  in  his  mouth,  and  set  with  a 
precious  stone.    There  is  a  snake  or  dragon  connected  with  many 


14 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


old  and  illustrious  families  :  for  instance,  there  is  the  loathly  worm 
of  Spindleston  ;  there  is  the  dragon  of  the  Lambtons  of  Durham  ; 
there  is  the  Conyers'  dragon  ;  there  is  a  Sussex  dragon  ;  and  the 
princely  House  of  Lusignan,  I  am  told  by  Mr.  Hilyard,  is  descended 
from  Melusine,  a  witch,  or  sorceress,  who  was  half- woman,  half- 
serpent.  The  legend  of  the  Forsters'  adder  is  lost.  Mr.  Hilyard 
once  made  a  ballad  or  song  about  it,  but  so  full  of  knights,  shep- 
herds, nymphs,  and  cool  grots  (of  which  there  are  not  many  in  our 
part  of  the  country),  that  I  thought  it  fantastical,  although  ingenious. 
The  shield  of  the  Forsters  is — argent :  a  chevron  vert  between  three 
bugle-horns  stringed  gules,  and  for  crest  a  bent  arm  and  a  hand  bear- 
ing a  broken  lance.  The  Etherston  quartering  is  also  argent  :  on  a 
bend  cottised  sable  three  martlets.  The  motto  is  '  Si  f  ractus  f  ortis  ;* 
but,  like  the  Fenwicks,  we  have  our  family  legend,  namely  ; 

*  Let  us  dearlie  then  holde 

To  mynde  ther  worthines 
That  which  our  parents  olde 
Hath  left  us  to  posses.' 

There  are  branches  of  the  Forsters  everywhere  :  at  Stokesley  in. 
Yorkshire,  at  Durham  (where  they  are  called  the  '  Friendly  For- 
sters '),  at  Tuggall  Hall,  at  Aldermarston,  at  Berwick,  at  East 
Bolton,  in  Jamaica,  in  London,  and  I  know  not  where  else. 
With  these  branches  we  have  nothing  here  to  do,  save  to  mention 
them  with  respect  as  flourishing  offshoots  of  a  brave  old  stock. 
Especially,  however,  to  be  considered  is  the  noble  branch  of 
Bamborough,  founded  by  Sir  John  Forster,  the  valiant  and  trusty 
Warden  of  the  March,  under  good  Queen  Elizabeth,  for  twenty- 
seven  years,  and  Governor  of  Bamborough  Castle.  It  was  to  his 
son,  Sir  Claudius,  that  King  J ames  made  a  grant  of  the  castle  and 
manor.  This  made  him  a  man  of  greater  importance  than  his  first- 
cousin,  Mr.  Forster,  of  Etherston.  Yet  it  is  a  proud  thing  to  be 
the  Head  of  the  House,  which  will  ever  be  the  happiness  of  the 
Forster  who  holds  Etherston. 

The  Forsters  have  always  been,  like  most  Northumbrian  families, 
blessed  with  numerous  progeny.  One  of  them  had  twenty-one 
sons  and  a  daughter  ;  being  unsurpassed  in  this  respect,  even  in 
Northumberland,  except  by  Sir  William  Swinburne's  father,  who, 
to  be  sure,  had  thirty  children.  How  great  a  happiness  to  bring 
up  so  many  valiant  sons  to  fight  England's  enemies  and  maintain 
the  glory  of  the  country  !  By  marriage,  especially  before  the 
Reformation,  into  which  many  noble  Houses  of  the  north  would 
never  enter,  the  Forsters  were  connected  with  nearly  every  family 
of  gentle  birth  in  the  north  ;  videlicet^  Lords  Crewe,  Wharton, 
Hilton,  and  Ogle  ;  the  Radcliffes,  Shaftoes,  Swinburnes,  Chaytors, 
Selbys,  Herons,  Carnabys,  Crasters,  Ridleys,  Fenwicks,  Salkelds, 
Grays  of  Chillingham  and  of  Howick  ;  the  Coles  of  Brancepeth, 
and  the  Ordes.   By  marriage  with  a  Radclilfe,  the  Forsters  of 


THE  FORSTERS, 


Bainborough  acquired  the  Manor  of  Blanchland  ;  and  by  marriage 
with  a  Selby,  that  of  Thornton.  One  of  the  Forsters  was  Lord 
Chief  Justice  of  England,  another  was  a  Puisne  Judge  ;  many  of 
them  were  Sheriffs  and  Knights  of  the  Shire.  Their  history  is,  in 
a  word,  part  and  parcel  of  the  history  of  Northumberland  itself  ; 
that  is  to  say,  of  the  great  and  glorious  realm  of  England. 

This  book  is  written  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  set  forth  the 
true  character  of  a  gallant  and  honourable  gentleman  which  hath 
been  of  late  defamed  ;  and  especially  by  one  who  hath  eaten  his 
bread,  drunk  his  wine,  and  received  many  favours  at  his  hands. 
The  name  of  this  gentleman  is  Thomas  Forster,  generally  called 
the  Younger.  It  was  he  who  commanded  the  Prince's  English 
forces  durfng  the  unhappy  Rebellion.  The  hand  which  writes  his 
history  is  that  of  his  sister.  I  am,  it  is  true,  unpractised  in  the 
penman's  art,  therefore  unskilled  in  the  trick  of  making  the  false 
appear  the  true.  Yet  I  can  narrate  faithfully  the  things  which 
happened  ;  I  can  show  hypocrites  and  villains,  stripped  of  their 
disguise,  the  horrid  wretches  which  they  are  ;  and  I  can  tell  how 
gallant  gentlemen  and  loyal  subjects  of  the  lawful  sovereign  of 
these  realms  (whom  may  God  restore  !)  were  betrayed  to  their  own 
undoing. 

No  one  should  be  able  to  speak  of  a  man  so  well  as  his  sister. 
As  for  his  wife,  she  knows  him  only  when  he  has  arrived  at  man- 
hood, and  has  no  knowledge  of  the  time  when  he  was  a  stripling, 
inexperienced  and  ignorant,  though  perhaps  full  of  brave  intentions, 
or  a  boy  at  school  under  ferule  and  discipline,  or  a  curly-headed 
laughing  child.  The  sister  remembers  the  growth  of  her  brother's 
mind  ;  she  has  watched  (if  she  be  an  elder  sister)  the  hesitations  of 
the  boy,  his  first  doubtful  flights,  seeming,  like  the  needle  when 
the  compass  is  shaken,  to  incline  now  here,  now  there,  until  it 
settles  towards  a  steady  north,  as  towards  the  straight  and  narrow 
path  of  honour  which  leadeth  to  heaven.  To  a  wife,  a  man  pre- 
sents himself  completed,  at  his  best ;  like  a  finished  work,  a  picture 
framed,  a  poem  written  and  printed.  As  for  myself,  it  is  true  that 
I  remember  not  my  brother  Tom  as  a  child,  because  he  was  older 
than  myself  ;  but  I  knew  him  as  a  young  man  while  he  wore  his  own 
hair  still  tied  up  by  a  ribbon,  and  went  about  dressed  in  grey  sagathy 
and  woollen  stockings,  and  great  thick  shoes  for  weekday  use  ;  with 
broadcloth  and  silver  buttons,  thread  stockings,  and  silver  buckles 
in  his  shoes,  and  a  silk  ribbon  for  his  hair,  on  Sundays  and  holy- 
days.  A  brave  and  gallant  lad  he  was,  better  at  hunting  than  at 
reading,  fonder  of  sport  than  of  books,  hearty  with  all,  ready  with 
a  laugh  and  a  friendly  word  with  rich  and  poor  ;  and  gifted  with  a 
natural  love  for  friendliness,  companionship,  and  good-fellowship, 
which  made  him  beloved  of  all.  He  is  dead  now,  and  his  fortunes 
broken  and  gone,  and  his  enemies  may  say,  as  in  the  Otterbourne 
Ballad  : 

*  Now  we  have  carry'd  all  Bambroughshire, 
All  the  welthe  in  the  world  have  we.* 


i6 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


Many  have  drawn  comparisons  between  Mr.  Forster  and  his 
gallant  companion-in-arms,  Lord  Derwentwater,  to  the  disadvan- 
tage of  the  former.  It  hath  never  been  my  pretence  or  opinion 
that  my  brother  was  possessed  of  a  nature  so  strangely  and  so  richly 
compounded  as  that  of  Lord  Derwentwater.  He,  it  must  be  owned, 
drew  all  hearts  by  qualities  as  rare  as  they  are  admirable.  But  I 
make  bold  to  maintain  that  if  loyalty,  fidelity,  and  courage  may 
command  respect,  then  we  must  give  respect  to  the  memory  of  Mr. 
Thomas  Forster.  These  virtues  were  conspicuous  in  him,  as  in  all 
his  line.  Like  a  river  in  a  champagne  country  which  runs  evenly 
between  its  banks,  so  is  the  race  of  the  Forsters  ;  like  the  river 
Coquet,  which  is  now  deep,  now  shallow,  now  gliding  through  open 
fields,  now  running  under  rocks,  now  under  high  hanging  woods,  is 
the  race  of  the  Radcliffes  :  and,  like  that  river,  they  are  most  beau- 
tiful just  before  the  end. 

The  father  of  this  Thomas  Forster  was  Thomas  Forster,  com- 
monly called  the  Elder,  of  Etherston.  He  remained  a  private 
gentleman,  taking  no  office  until  after  the  death  of  his  cousins  of 
Bamborough.  Then  he  became  Sheriff  of  the  County  and,  between 
the  years  1706  and  1710,  Knight  of  the  Shire.  In  the  House  of 
Commons  he  made  no  greater  figure  than  a  gentleman  of  Tory  and 
High  Church  principles  generally  desires  to  make.  Thus  he  was 
never  a  prater,  nor  did  he  waste  the  time  of  the  House  with  idle 
talk  and  argument,  being  always  well  advised  beforehand  which  side 
was  the  right,  whose  arguments  would  be  the  better,  and  prepared 
to  vote,  when  called  upon,  with  his  friends.  He,  therefore,  ac- 
quired the  respect  which  Parliament  is  always  ready  to  accord  to 
members  who  sit  silent  and  vote  with  their  party.  It  would,  indeed, 
have  pleased  him  best  could  the  measures  have  been  brought  for- 
ward silently,  and  voted  without  any  speeches  at  all.  '  It  was  a 
poor  reward,'  he  said,  *  for  the  fatigue  of  a  journey  from  Etherston 
to  Newcastle,  and  from  Newcastle  to  town,  to  sit  out  a  long  and 
tedious  debate,  when  one's  mind  was  already  made  up,  and  argu- 
ment can  produce  no  more  effect  than  swanshot  on  the  back  of  a 
tortoise.'  He  married,  while  in  his  twenty-first  year,  his  second 
cousin  Frances,  daughter  of  Sir  William  Forster  of  Bamborough, 
By  her  he  had  issue,  namely,  Thomas  Forster,  aforesaid  ;  John, 
who  is  now  the  possessor  of  Etherston  ;  Margaret,  the  eldest  of  the 
family,  married  to  Sir  William  Bacon,  of  Staward  ;  Elizabeth  and 
William,  who  both  died  young  ;  and  myself,  Dorothy.  It  was  the 
misfortune  of  these  children  that  their  mother,  who  was  as  virtuous 
and  prudent  as  she  was  beautiful,  died  while  they  were  all  of  tender 
years,  and  I,  for  one,  but  a  little  lassie  indeed,  too  young  to  feel 
the  blow  which  had  fallen  upon  us,  and  too  ignorant  to  join  in  the 
resentment  which  filled  the  breasts  of  my  elders  when  my  father, 
forgetting  the  incomparable  virtues  of  the  wife  he  had  buried, 
married  a  second  time.  This  marriage  lasted  but  a  short  while, 
ending  most  tragically  in  the  shooting  by  accident  of  madam. 
Would  not  one  think  that  any  man  would  plainly  see  in  the  death 


THE  FORSTERS. 


17 


of  two  wives  the  direct  injunction  of  Heaven  to  wed  no  more  ?  Yet 
my  father  tempted  Providence  and  married  a  third  time,  his  wife 
being  now  a  certain  Barbara  Lawes,  from  the  South  Country,  whose 
birth  was  not  such  as  to  warrant  this  elevation,  and  who  understood 
not  the  Northumberland  people,  or  their  speech,  or  their  ways 
She  brought  her  husband  two  children,  Ralph,  who  lived  to  be 
thirty  years  of  age,  and  Mary,  now  married  respectably  to  Mr. 
Proctor. 

As  to  my  father,  he  was  the  easiest  and  kindest  of  men  ;  all  he 
asked  for  in  the  world  was  rest  and  a  quiet  life  ;  to  this  he  was 
surely  entitled  by  reason  of  his  birth,  his  fortune,  and  his  good 
health.  His  fortune  was  moderate  :  an  estate  of  some  few  hun- 
dreds a  year,  and  a  house  as  good  as  any,  except  the  great  castles, 
in  the  county.  Etherston  Hall  is  a  mile  or  so  from  the  little  hamlet 
of  Lucker,  and  four  miles  from  Bamborough.  It  is  a  large,  square 
house,  as  full  of  modern  conveniences  as  any  gentleman  may  desire  ; 
the  sitting-rooms  are  wainscoted  with  walnut-wood  ;  it  has  sash- 
windows,  glazed  with  crown  glass,  which  make  the  rooms  light  and 
pleasant  in  all  weathers  ;  there  are  stoves  to  burn  a  coal  fire,  as 
well  as  andirons  for  wood  ;  in  the  parlour  there  is  a  high-backed 
chair  for  madam,  and  a  great  oaken  settle,  for  my  father  loved  the 
wooden  seat  of  the  North  Country,  with  its  cupboard  below,  in 
which  were  kept  all  kinds  of  stores  ;  there  is  a  shelf  of  books  if 
any  want  to  read  ;  there  are  still-room  and  dairy  ;  and  there  is  a 
great  cellar  well  stocked  with  ale,  both  small  and  October — wine, 
both  French,  Spanish,  and  home-made — and  whisky,  brandy,  and 
Geneva.  Outside  there  is  a  stately  garden  full  of  fruit-trees,  and 
planted  with  every  kind  of  flower,  fruit,  and  herb  ;  and  to  screen 
the  house  from  the  cold  north  and  east  winds  there  is  a  thick  plan- 
tation, call  it  rather  a  small  wood  or  coppice,  containing  all  the 
trees  that  afford  thick  foliage  and  shelter,  as  firs  and  pines,  with 
wych-elm,  sycamore,  ash,  rowan,  and  so  forth.  'Why,'  my  father 
would  say,  looking  round  him,  '  there  is  no  better  house  in  all 
Northumberland  for  the  entertainment  of  one's  friends  ;  nor,  upon 
my  word,  doth  a  pipe  of  tobacco  anywhere  taste  so  well,  whether  it 
be  on  the  settle  by  the  fire,  or  in  the  garden  beneath  a  tree.  Go 
fetch  me  one,  Dorothy,  my  girl.'  Seeing  how  much  he  loved  to  be 
at  home,  it  may  be  thought  surprising  that  he  should  have  endured 
so  long  the  fatigue  of  Parliament,  the  discomforts  to  a  country 
gentleman  of  living  in  London,  and  the  burden  of  the  long  journey 
to  town  and  back  again.  Yet  a  gentleman  must  not  shrink  from 
the  duties  imposed  upon  him  by  his  position,  and  when  it  became 
necessary  for  him  to  become  Knight  of  the  Shire,  he  accepted  the 
ofiftce  with  courage. 

I  have  no  cause  for  repentance  as  regards  the  fifth  commandment, 
and  am  easy  in  my  conscience  concerning  my  duty  to  my  father 
The  fifth  commandment,  although  it  hath  been  held  by  some  to 
enjoin  submission  to  all  one's  superiors  in  rank,  fortune,  place, 
affinity,  or  age,  yet  surelv  was  never  intended  to  include  step- 

2 


i8 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


mothers.  If  it  was,  Heaven  forgive  the  Forsters,  for  they  have 
greatly  sinned.  Still,  without  seeking,  like  Adam  in  that  pitiful 
excuse  of  his,  to  shift  the  blame  upon  another,  it  is  not  unjust  to 
say  that  the  beginnings  of  the  quarrels  were  generally  made  by 
madam,  who  desired  to  rule  her  stepchildren,  now  growing  tall  and 
beyond  her  control,  as  if  they  were  still  little  ones,  and  her  own. 
My  sister  Margaret,  the  eldest,  a  girl  of  uncommon  spirit,  was  quite 
able  to  hold  her  own.  Perhaps  madam  was  wrong  when  she  charged 
her  with  inciting  the  younger  ones  to  disobedience  ;  but  I  am  sure 
that  Tom  was  right  when  he,  grown  too  big  to  be  beaten,  even  by 
his  father,  stood  between  madam  and  his  little  sister  Dorothy,  swear- 
ing that  he  would  not  let  madam  lay  finger  upon  her,  whether  she 
deserved  it  or  not.  Let  her  go  beat  her  own  children  as  much  as 
she  pleased. 

'Dame,'  cried  her  husband,  when  madam  complaiued,  'must  I  for 
ever  be  going  about  with  a  whip  in  my  hand,  like  an  overseer  in  a 
negro  plantation  ?  Do  you  let  the  children  alone,  and  they  will  let 
you  alone.' 

Then  would  she  sit  glum  in  a  corner  till  I  went  humbly  to  ask 
pardon  and  all  for  a  time  would  go  well  again  ;  and  over  a  pipe  of 
tobacco  and  a  pot  of  October,  my  father  would  talk  with  Tom  about 
his  horses  and  his  hounds.  When  my  sister  Margaret  married  and 
went  away,  the  household  became  more  peaceful.  Between  Tom 
and  myself — I  being  a  child,  and  he  a  lad  who  was  always  ready 
to  promise  anything,  besides  that  he  regarded  his  younger  sister 
with  singular  affection — it  was  presently  arranged  and  understood 
that  when  we  grew  up  we  would  live  together  away  from  Etherston 
Hall,  and  quite  apart  from  madam.  The  compact  was  made  long 
before  it  seemed  likely  that  it  would  ever  be  carried  out ;  but  then, 
who  knows  the  decrees  of  Fate  ?  Nothing,  says  Mr.  Hilyard, 
according  to  the  French  proverb,  is  more  certain  than  the  unfore- 
seen. 

'  We  will  live  together,'  said  Tom.  '  Cheer  up,  Dorothy.  We 
will  go  and  live  together  somewhere  as  soon  as  I  come  of  age  to  do 
what  I  please.  Then  madam  will  have  no  one  to  flout  but  Jack — 
poor  J ack  !' 

It  is  sad  to  remember  the  quarrels  which  occurred  daily  between 
these  jealous  children  and  their  stepmother.  She  would  rush  into 
my  father's  presence  loud  in  complaint,  scolding  like  a  madwoman, 
though  perhaps  it  was  but  a  mere  trifle,  calling  loudly  for  rods  and 
whippings,  lamenting  the  day  that  ever  she  came  into  a  house  where 
the  children  were  so  disobedient,  upbraiding  her  husband  for  his 
lack  of  severity,  and  calling  on  the  precepts  of  Solomon,  who  is  no- 
where so  clear  as  on  this  point  of  punishing  children.  (Yet  Reho- 
boam,  who  was,  no  doubt,  very  soundly  flogged,  did  not  turn  out 
such  a  son  as  the  wisest  of  men  and  fathers  could  regard  with  pride.) 
On  the  other  side  stood  Tom  with  Dorothy  ;  she  hanging  her  head 
and  holding  her  brother  by  the  hand  ;  he  angry,  flushed,  with  fiery 
eyea,  meeting  accusation  with  denial  or  with  charges  of  his  own. 


THE  FORSTERS. 


19 


When  the  angry  wife  flung  out  of  the  room,  the  poor  father  would 
turn  a  perplexed  face  to  his  children. 

'  It  is  hard,'  he  would  say,  '  that  a  man  cannot  come  home  and 
hang  up  his  wig  and  find  peace  without  quarrels  and  fault-findings. 
Tom,  you  villain,  why  anger  madam  ?  Dorothy,  child,  go  ask 
pardon  for  both,  and  then  sit  down  and  let  us  be  happy.' 

Peace  was  attained  presently,  when,  in  a  happy  day,  Mr.  Hilyard 
came  to  the  house.  No  one,  before  his  arrival,  understood  how  to 
treat  the  fancies  of  a  whimsical  woman,  to  humour  her  prejudices, 
and  to  keep  her  in  good  temper.  Of  Mr.  Hilyard,  more  presently. 
For  the  moment,  sufficient  to  note  that  my  father  soon  learned  to 
trust  in  him  for  the  maintenance  of  an  unclouded  sky  at  home  ;  my 
stepmother  looked  to  him  for  such  personal  services  and  attentions 
as  were  necessary  to  keep  her  in  good  temper  ;  my  brother  Tom, 
for  such  money  (to  be  begged  of  my  father)  as  he  wanted  for  his 
personal  pleasure  ;  J ack,  for  mediation  in  order  to  save  him  from 
punishment  ;  and  I  myself,  for  amusement  and  instruction,  com- 
bined with  the  fingering  of  the  spinet,  of  which  I  was  always  fond, 
and  over  which  I  attained,  thanks  to  Mr.  Hilyard,  a  proficiency  (I 
may  fairly  say)  equalled  by  few.  There  was  never,  sure,  such  a 
tutor  in  any  family  as  Mr.  Antony  Hilyard. 

By  my  mother's  side  we  came  from  the  Bamborough  Forsters — a 
branch  of  the  family  more  distinguished  in  the  world  than  the  main 
stock,  and  remarkable  for  the  gifts  of  politeness  and  love  of  learn- 
ing. Madam  Frances  Forster  was  the  elder  daughter  of  Sir  William 
Forster,  of  Bamborouorh  and  Blanchland,  by  Dorothy  Selby,  his 
wife,  daughter  of  Sir  William  Selby,  and  granddaughter  of  Ferdi- 
nando,  Lord  Fairfax.  There  were  nine  children  of  this  marriage, 
viz.,  William,  the  eldest,  who  married  his  second  cousin,  Elizabeth 
Pert  Forster,  who  died  in  1698  without  issue  (she  afterwards 
married  Lord  Stawell,  and  enjoyed  a  charge  of  £350  a  year  upon 
the  estate)  ;  John,  the  second  son,  who  died  unmarried  in  1699, 
aged  thirty-one  years  ;  Ferdinando,  of  whom  more  •  immediately  ; 
Frances,  my  mother  ;  and  Dorothy,  the  youngest,  whose  birth 
caused  the  death  of  her  mother. 

This  Dorothy,  my  aunt,  grew  up  a  most  incomparable  beauty,  the 
equal  of  whom  was  not  to  be  seen  anywhere  in  the  county.  In 
those  days^  and  until  the  death  of  Ferdinando,  there  was  open  house 
kept  at  Bamborough,  with  so  much  company  and  such  prodigality 
and  lavishing  of  good  things  as  no  other  house  in  the  county  could 
show.  It  was  ever  a  distinction  between  the  Forsters  of  Etherston 
and  those  of  Bamborough,  that  the  former  were  quiet  gentlemen, 
lovers  of  home,  and  not  profuse  of  expenditure  ;  while  the  latter 
were  large-handed,  hospitable,  and  never  so  happy  as  when  they 
were  spending  money  with  open  hands  and  both  hands.  True,  they 
had  a  great  estate  ;  but  there  is  no  estate,  not  even  his  who  owns 
Potosi  or  Golconda,  but  requires  care  in  the  spending.  Sir  William 
first,  and  his  sons  afterwards,  lived  as  freely  as  if  they  had  an  endless 
revenue.    They  were  not  spendthrifts,  nor  did  they  throw  money 

2—2 


20 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


away  in  riotous  living,  like  him  who  was  reduced  to  feed  with  the 
pigs  ;  but  they  lived  at  a  great  rate  :  their  house  w^as  always  open 
for  anyone  who  chose  ;  their  stables  were  full  of  horses  ;  their 
cellars  full  of  wine  ;  their  rooms  full  of  company  ;  grooms  and 
varlets  in  plenty  lived  upon  them  ;  they  even  went  to  London. 
Madam,  I  remember,  was  for  ever  wondering  how  the  Bamborough 
people  could  afford,  even  with  their  means,  this  great  expense,  and 
looking  forward  to  a  sudden  end.  But  she  was  one  of  those  women 
who  rejoice  to  play  the  part  of  the  Trojan  Princess,  constantly 
foretell  disaster,  concern  themselves  continually  with  the  affairs  of 
other  people,  and  are  never  so  well  pleased  as  when  they  have  some 
fresh  misfortune  to  discuss,  or  some  certain  calamity  to  predict. 

To  the  beautiful  Dorothy  the  coming  and  going  of  fresh  company 
meant  the  arrival  and  dismissal  of  so  many  lovers,  for  all  men  fell 
in  love  with  her  at  first  sight.  Those  who  were  too  old  lamented 
their  youth  ;  those  who  were  married  wished  they  were  single  for 
her  sake  ;  those  who  were  rich  trusted  in  their  acres  ;  those  who 
were  poor  hoped  she  would  accept  their  poverty.  In  a  word,  they 
all  with  one  consent  began  to  ask  her  in  marriage  before  she  was 
seventeen  years  of  age.  But  she  would  have  none  of  them  ;  not 
from  pride,  nor  from  a  desire  to  make  a  great  match  (because,  being 
a  Forster,  she  knew  that  she  could  marry  no  one  better  than  a  plain 
Northumberland  gentleman),  but  because  she  w^as  young  and  happy, 
contented  to  wait  single  for  a  while,  and  because  of  all  the  lovers 
there  was  none  who  touched  her  heart. 

'  My  dear,'  she  said  to  me  once,  long  afterwards, '  a  maid  so  young 
is  simple,  and  expects  more  than  she  can  get  ;  this  man  is  too  tall, 
that  man  too  short,  another  too  fat,  another  is  boorish,  another 
drinks  too  much  wine,  another  has  a  hasty  temper — as  if  she  must 
needs  have  a  man  made  on  purpose  for  her.  The  gentlemen  pleased 
me  well  enough  to  converse  with,  though  sometimes  they  were 
coarse  in  their  talk  (a  thing  which  gentlewomen  cannot  too  strongly 
reprehend)  ;  but  I  liked  not  the  prospect  of  spending  my  whole 
life  with  any  one  of  them  all.  I  desired,  in  short,  more  than  a  plain 
gentleman  can  be  expected  to  give.  Heaven  granted  my  desire, 
save  for  one  small  particular,  which,  perhaps,  I  forgot  to  pray  for, 
or  I  might  have  had  that  as  well.  My  husband,  most  admirable  in 
all  other  respects,  had  lost,  when  I  married  him,  what  many  young 
women  would  prize  the  most — his  youth.  Yet  he  hath  given  me  a 
great  place  and  high  rank,  with  learning  and  piety  even  beyond 
what  may  be  looked  for,  even  in  a  bishop  ;  wisdom  more  than  one 
expects,  even  in  the  House  of  Peers  ;  and,  my  dear,  unfailing  love 
and  consideration  for  woman's  weakness,  which  is  as  rare  as  it  is 
delightful.'  And  with  that  her  beautiful  eyes  filled  with  tears— -but 
not  of:  sorrow. 

For  there  came  to  Alnwick  when  she  was  staying  in  their  house 
in  that  town,  being  then  but  just  eighteen,  the  great  Bishop  of 
Durham,  Lord  Crewe,  upon  a  confirmation.  Perhaps,  but  I  am  not 
Bure,  she  was  herself  confirmed  by  him  on  that  occasion.    He  was 


THE  FORSTERS, 


21 


then  fifty-six  years  of  age,  and,  though  there  is  so  great  a  disparity 
between  fifty-six  and  eighteen,  and  between  a  grave  bishop  and  a 
giddy  maiden,  his  lordship  fell  in  love  like  any  young  country 
squire  with  Dorothy,  and  proposed  to  marry  her.  To  me  it  seems 
a  truly  awful  thing  to  marry  a  bishop  of  the  English  Church,  and  I 
am  not  surprised  that  Dorothy  refused  him.  Being  still  in  her 
youth,  she  was  naturally  inclined  to  gaiety,  mirth,  laughter,  dancing, 
and  the  company  of  the  young,  which  is  a  quite  sufficient  reason 
for  her  refusal,  and  we  need  seek  no  farther.  Yet  it  was  a  great 
match,  for  he  was  not  only  Bishop  of  Durham  (that  is,  a  Prince 
Palatine,  with  power  to  appoint  his  own  sheriffs,  and  almost 
sovereign  in  his  own  diocese),  but  he  was  also  a  great  statesman  (he 
had  made  many  enemies  in  his  political  career),  and,  besides  this,  a 
peer  of  the  realm  by  birth  and  succession,  the  only  member  of  his 
sacred  profession  who  could  boast  of  that  distinction. 

When  his  lordship  found  that  his  suit  did  not  prevail  he  went 
away,  and  presently  married  a  widow — Penelope,  the  relict  of  Sir 
Hugh  Tynte.  But  when,  ten  years  later,  she  died,  he  found  that 
he  still  remembered  the  beautiful  Dorothy — probably  he  had  never 
forgotten  her — and  he  again  offered  her  his  hand  and  title. 

*  Child,'  she  told  me,  '  when  one  arrives  at  twenty-eight,  the 
pleasures  of  youth  have  all  been  tasted.  I  had  been  to  London, 
and  seen  the  glories  of  the  park,  the  theatre,  the  gaming-table,  and 
the  town  of  London.  Nothing  is  solid,  I  had  already  learned, 
except  the  jo^  s  of  rank,  dignity,  and  wealth.  When  my  lord  came 
to  me  again,  he  was,  it  is  true,  ten  years  older — he  was  sixty-six  — 
yet  I  assure  you  that  he  bore  himself  still  with  the  uprightness  and 
strength  which  most  men  show  at  forty,  having  no  shadow  of  ail- 
ment or  weakness,  or  touch  of  infirmity.  I  was,  therefore,  sensible 
of  the  great  honour  he  proposed  to  me  when  he  asked  me  again  to 
become  his  wife.  My  dear,  that  venerable  hand  which  I  presump- 
tuously rejected  at  eighteen,  I  accepted  with  gratitude  at  eight- 
and-twenty,  and  have  had  no  reason  since  for  a  single  day  to  regret 
my  decision.  Pray  Heaven  my  lord  hath  continued  to  regard  his 
marriage  with  the  same  feeling  of  satisfaction  !' 

Of  that,  indeed,  there  could  be  no  doubt,  because  the  Bishop  re- 
mained to  the  end  an  ardent  lover. 

Such,  then,  was  the  family  of  theForsters — a  goodly  trunk,  with 
many  vigorous  boughs — their  original  seat  at  Etherston,  with 
many  stately  houses  and  broad  lands,  belonging  to  the  offshoots 
and  younger  branches  :  a  House  received  with  the  respect  due  to  an 
equal  by  all  the  great  Northumbrian  families,  one  which  is  num- 
bered among  those  whose  origin  mounts  to  the  time  of  the  Con- 
queror or  earlier.  Their  name  is  not  like  that  of  the  Fen  wicks  or 
the  Swinburnes,  of  territorial  origin,  but  is,  perhaps,  a  corruption 
of  Forester.  They  were,  Mr.  Hilyard  says,  the  family  who  first 
seized  upon  the  forest,  or  they  were  the  King's  foresters.  In  the 
old  times,  when  they  were  always  fighting,  there  was  need  of  as 
many  as  could  be  produced,  for  the  men  were  mostly  doomed  to 


22 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


early  death  fighting  on  the  Border,  and  the  women,  more  to  be 
p»tied,  doomed  to  mourn  for  husbands,  sons,  and  brothers.  So 
that  to  both  ahke  fate  was  unhappy.  But  that  time  has  passed 
away.  There  is  peace  upon  the  Marches  ;  and  if  wicked  men  stir 
not  up  the  waters  of  strife,  it  is  a  time  for  sitting  every  man  by 
his  own  fireside,  his  wig  hung  upon  one  peg,  and  his  sword  upon 
another,  his  helmet  placed  beside  his  foreiathei's  monuments  in 
the  church,  above  the  old  coat  of  mail,  a  pipe  of  tobacco  in  his 
mouth,  a  brown  tankard  of  October  upon  the  table,  with  him  a 
friend  or  two,  and  talk  grave  or  cheerful,  as  the  time  and  mood 
may  suggest,  while  the  sun  slopes  westward,  and  the  shadows 
lengthen,  and  the  dark  crypt  of  Bamborough  Church  draweth 
nearer  every  hour. 

The  way  in  which  Tom  Forster,  junior,  of  Etherston,  became 
Tom  Forster  of  Bamborough,  was  as  follows  : 

On  August  the  22nd,  in  the  year  of  grace  seventeen  hundred  and 
one,  Mr.  Ferdinando  Forster,  Member  of  Parliament,  the  youngest 
and  only  surviving  of  the  three  brothers,  was  entertaining  a  com- 
pany of  gentlemen  to  dinner  at  the  Black  Horse  Tavern  in  New- 
castle. Now,  there  had  been  anger  (for  what  reason  I  know  not, 
and  have  never  heard)  for  a  long  time  between  Mr.  Forster  and 
Mr,  John  Fenwick,  of  Rock.  It  has  always  been  maintained  Mr. 
Forster  was  a  gentleman  of  easy  and  cheerful  disposition,  who  bore 
no  malice,  and  was  unfriendly  to  no  one  ;  also  that  he  was  ready 
and  willing  to  come  to  an  amicable  settlement  of  their  differences, 
whatever  they  might  be,  hating  nothing  so  much  as  bad  blood,  and 
being  ready  to  forgive  private  injuries  so  far  as  his  honour  would 
allow.  Unfortunately  Mr.  Fenwick  was  of  an  opposite  tempera- 
ment, being  choleric,  vindictive,  and  hot-headed.  Also  conceiving 
that  he  had  been  wronged,  he  went  about  demanding  vengeance, 
and  breathing  threats  whenever  he  should  meet  his  adversary. 
"Was  it  not,  therefore,  a  most  unfortunate  accident  that  he  should 
be  in  Newcastle  on  that  same  August  morning  ?  And  what  should 
be  said  of  the  mischievous  wretch  (reported  to  be  mad  Jack  Hall) 
who  informed  this  angry  man  that  his  enemy  was  at  the  Black 
Horse  ?  Thither  he  rushed,  maddened  by  his  great  wrath,  and, 
bursting  into  the  room  where  Mr.  Forster  sat  with  his  friends,  did 
assail  him  with  reproaches,  insults,  curses,  and  foul  names  of  so 
outrageous  and  intolerable  a  kind  that  there  was  nothing  for  a  man 
of  honour  to  do  but  (having  first  called  upon  his  friends  to  take 
notice  that  the  quarrel  was  forced  upon  him)  to  rise  and  follow  the 
aggressor  into  the  open  street.  At  the  White  Cross  they  stood,  and 
both  drew  their  swords.  Mr.  Hall,  who  had  followed  Mr.  Fenwick, 
drew  his  sword  as  well,  with  intent  to  act  as  second.  Just  then, 
before  the  weapons  had  crossed,  Mr.  Forster's  foot  slipped,  and  he 
fell  upon  the  stones.  What  followed  is  dreadful  to  tell,  and  shows 
how  rage  may  make  even  an  honourable  gentleman  blind  and  mad. 
For  Mr.  Fenwick,  without  waiting  for  his  adversary  to  recover,  or 
to  be  in  a  position  to  defend  himself,  instantly  ran  him  through  the 


THE  FORSTERS. 


23 


heart,  so  that  he  fell  dead.  It  has  always  been  said  that  Mr.  Hall 
should  have  prevented  this  cruel  murder  by  striking  up  Mr,  Fen- 
wick's  sword  with  his  own,  and  there  are  not  wanting  those  who 
call  him  as  much  a  murderer  as  the  unhappy  man  himself  who  did 
the  deed.  I  know  not  how  this  may  be  ;  but  so  much  is  certa  n, 
that  nothing  afterwards  ever  prospered  with  Mr.  Hall ;  but  he  was 
pursued  with  continued  disaster  to  the  day  of  his  violent  and  un- 
timely end — a  clear  mark  of  Heaven's  displeasure.  They  seized 
Mr.  Fenwick  red-handed,  so  to  speak,  and  lodged  him  in  prison. 
A  month  later  he  was  led  forth  and  hanged  for  the  murder — a 
melancholy  and  disgraceful  end  for  a  gentleman  of  his  birth  and 
fortune. 

The  intelligence  of  this  terrible  crime  was  brought  to  Etherston 
by  Mr.  Hilyard  the  next  day.  He  lay  at  Bamborough  that  night, 
and  so  heard  the  news  among  the  first.  Madam  was  sitting  in  the 
garden  with  the  two  boys  and  Dorothy,  Tom  being  then  seventeen 
and  Jack  five  years  younger. 

*  Alas  !'  she  cried,  when  she  heard  the  news — the  children  looking 
at  each  other  in  amazement,  not  knowing  what  to  say.  *  Alas  1 
sure  some  great  wickedness,  boys,  must  ha^e  been  committed  by 
your  mother's  family.  First  it  is  John,  then  William,  and  now 
Ferdinando  ;  all  gone  in  three  years.  Of  nine  children  there  remains 
but  one.  Some  sins,  we  are  assured,  are  visited  upon  the  third  and 
fourth  generation.  Tom,  it  would  become  thee  to  repent,  lest  it 
be  visited  upon  thee  as  well.' 

^  When  I  find  out  what  I  am  to  repent  of,'  said  Tom  sullenly, 
because  he  loved  not  to  hear  the  least  reflection  upon  his  mother's 
family,  '  I  will  repent.  My  mother's  family  have  brought  nothing 
but  honour  to  us,  as  far  as  I  know.  There  is  credit  in  being  worth 
notice.  Now,  a  Lawes  might  steal  a  pig  and  be  hanged  for  it,  and 
his  grandchildren  never  a  penny  the  worse.' 

'With  submission,  madam,'  Mr.  Hilyard  interposed  hastily,  to 
prevent  further  words,  '  this  crime  may  lead  to  your  stepson's 
singular  advantage.  For,  if  Mr.  Ferdinando  hath  left  no  will,  I 
mistake  much  if  the  estates  do  not  devolve  upon  him,  or  upon  him 
and  Lady  Crewe  together.' 

'  Will  Tom  have  Bamborough  ?'  madam  asked.  *  Then  he  must 
not  have  Etherston  as  well.  That,'  she  added,  thinking  of  her 
own  son,  not  yet  born,  '  should  be  divided  among  all  the  other 
children,  however  many  there  may  be.  The  law  is  unjust  as  regards 
the  younger  sons.  No  woman  would  ever  be  a  second  wife  did  she 
know  how  her  own  children  would  be  served.' 

'  1  doubt  not,  madam,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  that  should  the  oc- 
casion arise,  his  honour  will  prove  as  just  and  as  generous  as  you 
would  desire.' 

*  Their  father,'  madam  replied,  tossing  her  head,  *  would  give  all 
to  Dorothy  had  he  his  own  Avay.  When  justice  is  to  be  done,  Mi\ 
Hilyard,  come  to  me  about  it.' 

'As  for  me,'  cried  Tom,  the  brave  lad,  his  face  suddenly  fiushing. 


24 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


'  it  will  be  my  business  to  avenge  the  death  of  my  uncle.  Wnat 
The  breath  only  just  out  of  his  body,  and  we  are  talking  of  his 
succession !' 

'  Nay,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  as  for  the  murderer,  he  is  in  pripon 
they  say  that  he  will  be  tried  for  his  life.  Let  me  advise  you  rathei 
to  keep  this  melancholy  story  before  your  eyes  as  an  example,  nevei 
to  be  forgotten,  of  the  danger  of  ungoverned  wrath,  which  Lac 
tantius  calls  a  cruel  tempest  of  the  mind.  Thus,  as  is  recorded, 
began  the  madness  of  Ajax.' 

They  brought  the  body  of  Mr.  Forster  to  Bamborough,  and 
buried  him  in  the  crypt  below  the  chancel.  It  was  observed  that 
no  longer  procession  had  ever  been  known  at  the  funeral  of  any- 
one :  nay,  it  is  even  said  that  when  the  cojffin  was  borne  into  the 
church,  the  tail  of  the  long  line  of  mourners  was  yet  a  whole  mile 
away  from  the  porch,  and  they  had  to  wait  till  all  had  reached  the 
church,  though  all  could  not  find  room  within,  before  they  began 
the  words  of  the  Funeral  Service.  The  chief  mourner  v/as  my 
brother  Tom,  and  after  him  my  father,  at  the  head  of  so  great  a 
gathering  of  Forsters  that  you  might  think  them  an  army  in  them- 
selves. Then  came  the  county  gentlemen  and  private  friends,  and 
lastly  the  tenants  and  the  common  people,  who  wept  tears  of  un- 
feigned sorrow,  for  they  had  lost  a  landlord  and  friend  of  a  kind 
heart,  although  one  who  spent  at  a  great  rate  and  lived  beyond  his 
income.  The  foxhunters  gave  their  brother  sportsman  the  last 
view -holloa,  as  one  fires  a  volley  over  the  grave  of  a  soldier  ;  and 
the  Manor  House  provided  a  noble  supper  for  all  the  mourners,  of 
high  and  low  degree,  with  as  much  drink  of  all  kinds  as  their  grief 
could  crave,  so  that  few,  indeed,  departed  sober  from  that  last 
tribute  of  respect  to  the  murdered  man. 

It  was  proved  to  be  as  Mr.  Hilyard  thought — Mr.  Forster  had 
made  no  will.  Therefore,  the  Bamborough  estates  fell  to  Lady 
Crewe  and  Tom  %m  coheirs,  each  to  take  a  moiety. 

'  Dorothy,'  Tom  cried,  '  what  we  agreed  to  do  shall  be  done.  As 
soon  as  I  am  of  age,  and  can  go  to  live  at  the  Manor  House,  thou 
shalt  come  too,  and  we  will  live  together.' 

CHAPTER  IIL 

THE  HEIR  OF  BAMBOROUGH. 

A  NOBLE  inheritance  indeed,  even  if  one  only  had  a  moiety  or  half 
part !  Not  only  did  it  include  the  manors  of  Bamborough  and 
Blanchlani,  but  also  the  Rectory  and  Monastery  of  Shotley,  the 
Manor  of  Thornton,  with  houses  at  Alnwick  and  elsewhere,  £f<hing- 
rights  on  Tweed  and  Derwent,  and  presentations  to  four  livings 
and  chapelries.  Tom  nover  wearied  of  enumerating  his  lands  and 
possessions. 

*  As  to  her  ladyship,'  he  said,  'she  may  have  children  and  she 


THE  HEIR  OF  BAMBOROUGH, 


25 


may  not.  If  she  have  none,  then  the  whole  will  be  mine.  And 
whatever  happens,  we  shall  live  in  the  Manor  House,  Dorothy,  and 
we  will  have  a  noble  time — you  and  I  together.  She  has  a  dozen 
palaces  and  castles  ;  she  will  surely  not  grudge  me  the  simple 
J^Ianor  House  of  Bamborough.' 

But  as  yet  he  wanted  three  years  of  twenty-one,  and  for  the 
present  he  must  needs  have  patience. 

Presently,  little  by  little,  there  began  to  leak  out  reports  that  all 
was  not  as  it  should  be  with  the  estate.  For  first  we  heard  of  a 
charge  of  £360  a  year  in  favour  of  my  uncle  Will's  widow— a 
monstrous  and  most  greedy  jointure,  truly ^  when  one  considers 
that  on  many  estates  as  large  as  that  of  Bamborough  a  poor  £40  a 
year  is  all  that  a  younger  son  or  daughter  may  look  for.  Next  we 
heard  of  a  rent-charge  of  £500  a  year  created  by  the  late  Sir 
William  Forster  to  pay  for  some  of  his  profuse  expenditure.  This 
was  bought  up  by  Lord  Crewe,  no  doubt  at  her  ladyship's  expressed 
desire,  for  £10,000.  But  the  Bishop  was  one  of  the  most  wealthy 
men  in  the  kingdom,  and  could  well  afford  even  so  great  a  sum. 
Here,  however,  was  a  goodly  can  tie  cut  out  of  the  estate.  Half 
the  annual  rent  gone  at  once.  Tom,  for  his  part,  showed  little  or 
no  concern  about  it. 

*  There  remains,'  he  said,  'another  £800  a  year,  besides  the  houses. 
There  is  a  good  deal  to  be  done  with  the  half  of  £800  a  year.  And 
I  am  the  heir  of  Etherston  as  well.' 

He  looked  on  his  heritage  of  Bamborough  as  a  means  for  living 
as  he  wished  until  the  Etherston  property  fell  in. 

Yet  he  ought  to  have  felt  that  there  is  a  ead  falling-off  from  the 
£1,600  or  so  of  revenue  received  by  Sir  William,  to  the  enjoyment 
of  only  a  moiety  of  £800  a  year.  There  were  other  creditors  and 
claims  upon  the  estate  also,  of  which  we  knew  nothing,  and  happily, 
as  yet,  suspected  nothing. 

The  heir  of  both  Bamborough  and  Etherston  was  a  much  more 
important  person  than  the  heir  of  Etherston  alone.  Lady  Crewe, 
who,  to  speak  the  truth,  took  little  notice  of  her  sister's  children 
while  her  brothers  were  living,  now  showed  a  very  particular  in- 
terest in  Tom,  and  wrote  many  letters  upon  his  course  of  life,  both 
to  him  and  to  his  father.  She  begged  earnestly  that  he  might  go 
to  Cambridge,  pointing  out  that,  although  her  nephew's  inclination 
lay  not  much,  as  she  understood,  in  the  direction  of  books,  it  would 
be  well  for  him  to  make  the  acquaintance  at  that  ancient  seat  of 
learning  of  the  young  men,  his  contemporaries,  and  to  learn  how 
matters  of  importance  are  regarded  outside  Northumberland. 
Tom,  therefore,  went  to  St.  John's  College,  as  a  gentleman  com- 
moner, with  Mr.  Hilyard  for  his  tutor.  Here,  however,  he  remained 
but  three  or  four  terms.  Then  her  ladyship  pointed  out  that  a 
country  gentleman  has  to  become  a  magistrate,  so  that  it  is  most 
desirable  for  him  to  know  law,  and  entreated  him  to  enter  at 
Lincoln's  Inn,  and  to  reside  in  London  for  a  part  of  each  year,  in 
order  to  study  the  Acts  of  Parliament  and  the  powers  of  a  justice 


26 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


of  the  peace.  To  this,  however,  Tom  objected,  saying  that  his 
father  and  his  grandfather  had  been  justices  without  going  to 
Lincoln's  Inn,  or  knowing  any  law  at  all,  and  that,  to  his  mind,  a 
gentleman  should  not  dirty  his  fingers  with  the  quibbles  and  shifts 
of  lawyers.  In  this  opinion  he  continued,  although  he  was  re- 
minded that  one  of  his  cousins  had  been  Sir  Thomas  Forster, 
Justice  of  Common  Pleas  under  King  James  I.,  and  another.  Sir 
Eobert  Forster,  no  less  than  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  England  under 
Charles  I.  Then  Lady  Crewe  wrote  another  letter,  in  which  she 
clearly  told  her  nephew  that  his  rusticity  and  that  of  his  friends 
was  such  as  to  unfit  him  for  the  posts  of  distinction  open  to  the 
owner  of  Bamborough  (her  brothers,  indeed,  especially  Ferdinando, 
had  been  gentlemen  of  courtly  and  finished  manners,  acquired 
among  the  most  polite  society  of  St.  James's)  :  and  that  if  he 
would  neither  study  law  nor  letters,  it  behoved  him,  under  proper 
tutelage,  such  as  that  of  Mr.  Hilyard,  to  travel  into  Italy,  and  so 
to  acquire  the  manners  of  the  great  world.  I  knew  not  at  the  time, 
and  none  of  us  were  courtiers  enough  to  discern,  that  her  ladyship, 
in  taking  all  this  trouble,  was  endeavouring  to  make  Tom  under- 
stand her  design  ;  namely,  to  make  her  nephew  the  successor  of 
her  brothers,  and  no  loser  by  their  prodigality,  provided  only  he 
would  show  himself  worthy  of  her  bounty. 

This  project  she  never  abandoned,  being  always  most  jealous  for 
the  honour  of  the  Forsters,  although  the  events  which  followed 
prevented  her  from  carrying  it  into  effect.  Yet  Tom  was  so  foolish 
as  to  fall  into  a  great  rage  upon  receiving  her  letter,  alleging  that, 
as  for  his  manners,  he  was  not  ashamed  of  them,  and  they  were 
those  of  his  father  and  his  friends  ;  that  he  was  not,  for  his  part, 
going  to  become  a  London  beau  ;  and  as  to  travelling  in  foreign 
parts,  to  be  sure  the  Prince  was  in  France,  but  what  had  an 
English  gentleman  to  learn  from  a  set  of  mangy  French  and 
scurvy  Italians  ?  And  as  for  distinction  and  the  holding  of  high 
posts,  he  might  show  her  ladyship  some  day  that  he  was  as  capable 
of  distinguishing  himself  as  any  man  in  Northumberland — rusticity 
or  no  rusticity. 

'  Thou  wilt  not  be  guided  by  the  wisest  of  women,  boy,'  my 
father  said.  ^  She  is  the  wisest  of  women,  because  she  is  led  by 
the  most  crafty  and  the  wisest  of  men.  Thou  wilt  neither  to 
London  nor  to  foreign  lands,  though  here  is  Mr.  Hilyard  longing 
to  go  with  thee.  Well,  stay-at-homes  have  little  wdt  ;  ignorance 
breeds  conceit.  I  have  myself  been  to  London  and  seen  the 
Court  ;  but  as  for  thee,  Tom,  thou  art  pure  rustic.  Besides, 
though  I  am  a  simple  and  unlearned  person,  content  to  stay  at 
home,  they  will  not,  I  fear,  suffer  thee  the  same  liberty.  For  thou 
hast  more  to  lose  ;  and  where  the  carcase  is,  thither  the  eagles 
gather.' 

Then  Lady  Crewe  privately  exhorted  Mr.  Forster  to  take  care 
lest  his  son,  through  ignorance  of  the  world,  should  be  tempted 
into  some  rash  enterprise,  like  that  of  Sir  William  Fenwick,  who 


THE  HEIR  OF  BAMBOROUGH, 


27 


was  executed  for  treason  in  the  year  1696  ;  to  remember  that  fierce 
spirits  were  always  abroad,  endeavouring  to  stir  up  immature 
risings  and  to  hatch  foolish  plots  for  the  destruction  of  unhappy 
gentlemen  ;  and  to  be  assured  that  though  her  own  favour  and 
that  of  her  husband  would  be  continued  to  her  nephew  should  he 
move  prudently,  that  favour  would  certainly  be  withdrawn  should 
rashness  plunge  him  into  difficulties  with  the  Government  :  with 
much  more  to  the  same  effect.  - 

*  Her  ladyship  is  right,'  cried  my  father.  '  None  so  hot  for  the 
Sovereign  as  my  Lord  Bishop  till  King  William  comes  to  the 
throne.  Then  he  must  needs  run  for  it  and  try  the  air  of  France. 
Running  is  a  very  noble  exercise  when  you  are  young.  My  lord 
is  out  of  favour  now,  and  he  is  getting  old,  and  would  fain  stay 
where  he  is,  and  I  think  he  would  like  to  taste  once  more  the 
sweetness  of  Court  smiles  ;  but  still,  one  who  loves  the  old  House. 
This  should  be  thy  safest  plan,  Tom.  Be  guided  by  the  Bishop. 
He  will  never  go  over  to  the  other  side,  and  yet  he  will  never  put 
his  neck  in  the  noose.  Wherefore,  my  son,  remember  that  con- 
spiracies are  hatched  by  men  who  have  got  nothing  to  lose  ;  it  is 
easy  for  a  landless  Irishman  to  talk  wild  and  vapour,  but  for  us, 
who  have  a  name  and  an  estate  Vv'hich  we  have  held  together  for 
seven  hundred  years  and  more,  the  risk  is  too  great.  I  do  not  say, 
neither,  that  we  are  to  turn  Whigs.  We  who  fought  for  the 
Stuarts  stand  by  them  still.  They  made  my  grandfather  Sheriff 
and  Knight  ;  they  gave  Sir  Claudius  the  Manor  of  Bamborough  ; 
saving  our  rehgion,  and  our  estates,  Tom — and  our  estates,  boy, 
mind  that — we  must  follow  the  Stuarts  always.  When  the  voice 
of  the  country  is  clearly  for  the  Prince,  the  Forsters  will  come 
with  the  rest.  But  when  thwacks  are  going,  let  those  who  began 
get  the  first  of  the  hammering,  while  we  stand  by  and  see  which 
way  the  battle  is  likely  to  go.  Therefore,  when  thou  art  of  age, 
Tom,  take  care  to  write  nothing,  to  promise  nothing,  to  sign  nothing. 
As  for  what  may  happen,  we  know  nought.  The  Dutchman  hath 
no  children  :  let  us  wait  ;  the  Princess  Anne  may  follow,  but  we 
know  not.    Let  us  wait,  and  meantime  lie  snug  all.' 

However,  there  were  two  years  to  wait  before  the  coming  of 
age,  which  was  in  the  year  1702.  By  consent  of  Lady  Crewe, 
Tom  was  allowed  during  this  time  to  use  the  Manor  House  as  if 
it  was  already  his  own,  and  many  were  the  days  which  we  spent 
in  the  old  place,  sometimes  with  Mr.  Hilyard  for  tutor  and  com- 
panion, spending  whole  weeks  there.  The  house  was  not  larger 
than  Etherston  Hall,  but  it  was,  in  a  way,  more  splendid.  There 
were  portraits  on  the  walls  of  Sir  Claudius,  Claudius  his  nephew. 
Sir  William,  his  three  sons,  the  wife  of  the  eldest,  my  own  mother, 
and  my  aunt,  the  beautiful  Dorothy.  Truly  there  never  was  a 
more  lovely  and  charming  face  than  that  of  this  portrait,  the 
original  of  which  I  had  never  seen.  It  represented  her  at  the  age 
of  twenty  or  twenty-one.  She  had  a  face  round  rather  than  oval  ■; 
a  sweet,  rounded,  dimpled  chin  ;  a  mouth  more  like  a  rosebud  than 


28 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


the  lips  of  a  woman  ;  light  brown,  curling  hair,  lying  in  a  cluster 
about  her  forehead,  which,  Mr.  Hilyard  said,  was  too  ample  foi 
the  Greek  idea  of  "beauty,  their  Venus  being  low  of  forehead  ;  the 
nose  was  full ;  the  eyes  were  dark  brown,  and  of  a  singular  bright- 
ness. I  reflected  with  inexpressible  joy,  when  looking  upon  this 
sweet  face,  that  my  own  eyes  were  of  the  same  colour  and  bright- 
ness, and  my  own  hair  of  the  same  hue,  and  the  same  tendency  to 
twist  and  curl  itself  about  my  forehead.  When  gentlemen,  past 
the  age  of  thirty  or  so,  came  to  the  Manor  House,  they  gazed  at 
the  portrait  and  sighed,  remembering  her  beauty,  and  thinking,  no 
doubt,  how  great  a  thing  it  would  have  been  to  marry  so  lovely  a 
woman.  When  the  young  men  came,  they  looked  upon  the 
portrait  with  such  wonder  as  they  might  experience  in  looking 
upon  that  of  Helen,  Cleopatra,  or  fair  Dido. 

*  She  moves,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  a  goddess  confessed.  Never, 
since  those  fair  women  of  old,  has  there  been  her  like.  Some- 
times I  think  that  the  incomparable  Sappho  may  have  had  those 
eyes,  which  are  yours  also,  Miss  Dorothy  ;  and  the  chaste  Lucretia 
that  look,  in  which  you  yourself  greatly  resemble  your  aunt ;  and 
even  Yenus  herself  that  dimpled  chin,  which  I  am  glad  to  see 
remains  still  in  the  family.' 

There  were  other  portraits,  but  these  were  the  best. 

The  -house  itself  is  of  two  stories,  and  is  built  in  the  modern 
fashion,  having  square  sash  windows,  two  on  one  side  the  door  and 
one  on  the  other.  It  looks  from  the  front  upon  a  triangular  green, 
planted  with  a  clump  of  trees,  having  the  village  pant  at  the  end, 
and  a  field  at  the  base.  On  the  right  is  the  church,  and  on  the 
left  is  the  broad  street  leading  to  the  castle.  At  the  back  is  a 
garden,  not  so  big  or  so  well  provided  as  that  of  Etherston,  because, 
by  the  seaside,  everything  will  not  grow  ;  but  it  has  a  great  store 
of  herbs  and  fruit  trees,  with  currants,  gooseberries,  and  straw- 
berries in  season,  lavender  and  other  plants  for  strong  waters  and 
perfumes,  and  herbs  for  medicine  :  notwithstanding  which,  Nature 
hath  been  so  benevolent  as  to  plant  things  for  suffering  man's 
solace  in  every  hedge,  so  that,  though  there  may  be  plenty  of 
toothache  in  the  world,  there  is  also  plenty  of  trefoil,  yarrow,  and 
groundsel-root ;  and,  though  one  may  catch  a  cough,  there  is  no  fear 
of  using  up  all  the  ground-ivy  ;  and,  though  men  will  cut  them- 
selves with  knives  and  sickles,  their  wives  can  gather  for  nothing 
as  much  comfrey,  self-heal,  and  valerian  as  will  cure  their  wounds. 

A  goodly  garden  and  ancient,  with  a  trim  lawn  as  well,  on  which 
bowls  could  be  played  ;  and  a  sundial,  which  had  marked  the  flight 
of  time  for  many  hundreds  of  years  ;  and  a  fountain,  which  was 
stopped,  and  would  work  no  longer  till  Mr.  Hilyard  set  it  agoing  ; 
and  then  we  marvelled  how  we  could  have  found  the  garden 
perfect  without  the  pleasant  plash  of  that  jet  of  water  with  its 
little  arch  like  a  rainbow,  and  its  sparkle  in  the  sun.  In  every 
season — summer,  winter,  or  autumn— it  was  pleasant  to  walk  in 
the  garden,  and  to  look  over  the  low  wall  at  the  end,  and  the  green 


THE  HEIR  OE  BAMBOROUGH 


29 


meadow  beyond  it,  upon  the  broad  sea  which  stretches  away  till 
sea  and  sky  meet.  A  stormy  sea  it  is  when  the  north-east  winds 
blow,  and  many  have  been  the  wrecks  upon  the  rocks  and  islets 
off  the  shore. 

To  live  in  the  Manor  House  was  in  itself  a  help  to  cure  our 
rustic  ways  of  thought  and  speech.  For  not  only  were  there 
portraits,  but  also  pictures  brought  from  abroad,  pictures  of  Roman 
Catholic  saints — there  was  a  martyr,  I  remember,  set  up  as  a  target 
for  the  arrows  of  his  persecutors  ;  and  others  of  hunting-parties, 
and  of  battles  by  sea  and  land.  Mr.  Hilyard  would  stand  before 
these  pictures  and  discourse  with  great  learning  to  me  upon  the 
Italian,  Spanish,  French,  and  Dutch  Schools,  and  the  chief  merits 
of  each.  There  was  also  tapestry,  but  not  much.  Mr.  Hilyard 
has  told  me  of  the  famous  tapestry  which  he  has  seen  in  the 
Palace  of  St.  James.  There  was  a  cabinet  full  of  curiosities 
brought  home  by  travellers  in  foreign  parts — among  them  a  stone 
picked  up  in  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane,  and  a  garland  of  thorns 
bought  in  Jerusalem  itself.  This  cabinet  afforded  Mr.  Hilyard 
the  opportunity  of  many  a  discourse.  There  were  also  books — 
not  one  shelf  only,  as  we  had  at  Etherston — but  three  or  even 
four  shelves.  There  was  Baker^s  'Chronicle,'  Holinshed's  'History/ 
Sibbes's  ^Soul's  Conflict,'  a  volume  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  Camden's 
'Britannia,' Grey's  ' Choregraphia,'  a  'History  of  the  Lives,  Travels, 
and  Sufferings  of  the  Apostles,'  with  pictures,  very  moving  ; 
Record's  '  Arithmetic,'  the  '  Marrow  of  Mathematics,'  Hartmann's 
'  True  Preserver  of  HeaUh,'  Drake's '  World  Encompassed,'  Evelyn's 
'  Gardener's  Almanack,'  the  '  Paradise  Lost '  of  Milton,  the  Plays 
of  Shakespeare,  Bacon's  '  Essays,'  Quarles's  '  Emblems,'  Butler's 
'  Hudibras,'  in  which  Mr.  Hilyard  greatly  delighted — I  know  not 
why,  because  I  could  never  read  it  with  pleasure — and  a  great 
many  more.  I  read  in  most  of  these  books,  and,  I  hope,  sucked 
as  much  profit  from  them  as  was  to  be  expected  of  a  girl.  To  be 
sure,  I  bad  beside  me  always  a  most  patient,  learned,  and  kind 
commentator,  who  spared  no  pains  to  make  me  understand  obscure 
passages,  and  to  illustrate  places  which,  before  he  spoke  of  them, 
seemed  unintelligible.  An  ignorant  reader  is  like  a  poor  man  with 
empty  purse,  who  walks  along  a  valley  strewn  with  diamonds  and 
precious  stones,  which  he  neglects  because  he  knows  not  how  price- 
less are  the  stones  beneath  his  feet.  Pity  it  was  that  Tom  would 
neither  read  nor  listen. 

On  Sundays,  when  we  all  went  to  church  in  the  morning,  there 
was  a  great  and  noteworthy  difference  after  Tom  became  the  half 
owner  of  Bamborough.  For,  as  often  happens  in  old  churches, 
this  of  ours  was  divided  and  parcelled  out  among  the  gentry.  The 
north  transept  belongs  to  the  Greys  of  Howick  ;  the  south  transept 
to  the  Radcliffes,  although  they  are  Papists  ;  the  north  part  of  the 
nave  belongs  to  the  owners  of  the  Lucker,  the  south  to  the  Forsters 
of  Etherston,  and  the  chancel  to  the  Forsters  of  Bamborough. 
While,  therefore,  my  father,  with  madam  and  J ack  and  the  children, 


30 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


sat  in  their  pew  below  the  pulpit,  Tom,  and  I  with  him,  and  Mr. 
Hilyard,  because  he  was  the  tutor,  walked  proudly  into  the  chancel 
and  sat  in  a  great  pew  raised  three  feet  above  the  ground,  so  that 
you  mounted  by  steps.  The  seats  were  lined  with  red  velvet,  very 
worn.  Above  us  hung  our  own  scutcheon,  showing  the  Badcliffe 
fleur-de-lys  among  the  Etherston  martlets  ;  on  the  other  side  was 
the  great  marble  monument  of  Sir  Claudius,  who  died  at  Blanch- 
land  ;  and,  hanging  oq  the  wall,  the  helmet  and  iron  coat  of  some 
other  Forster  long  since  dead  and  gone.  Beside  us  was  the  stone 
effigy,  with  crossed  legs,  called  Sir  Lancelot  du  Lac,  concerning 
whom  Mr.  Hilyard  had  a  great  deal  to  say,  as  to  whether  he  was 
not  perchance  a  Forster,  and  thus  misnamed  from  the  tradition  of 
some  great  exploit  or  deed  of  arms. 

It  is  an  old  and  crumbling  chancel.  Among  other  things  it  con- 
tains an  ancient  window,  through  which  the  unhappy  lepers  outside 
might  formerly  see  the  elevation  of  the  Host  vrithin.  Separating 
chancel  from  nave,  was  an  open  screen  of  carved  white  stone,  a 
good  deal  broken.  When  we  stood  up  for  the  reading  of  the 
Psalms  and  the  singing  of  the  hymn,  I  could  see  through  this 
screen  the  back  of  the  vicar  at  the  reading-desk,  and  in  the  pew 
below  the  pulpit  my  father's  best  Sunday  wig  in  the  crispest  curl, 
and  madam's  hat  and  ribbons.  Beyond  the  pews  of  the  gentle- 
folk were  the  seats  of  the  common  people,  worn  black  and  shiny 
by  generations  of  the  humble  worshippers.  I  suppose  that  in 
heaven  there  are  no  velvet-lined  pews,  with  steps  to  mount,  and 
stoves  to  keep  one  warm  in  winter  ;  but  it  seems  fitting  thus  to 
separate  gentle  and  simple,  and  doubtless  even  in  heaven  there  are 
degrees— one  cannot  imderstand  that  a  prince  and  a  scullion  will 
ever  sit  side  by  side.  As  for  me,  I  confess  that  it  was  with  pride 
that  I  sat  every  Sunday  beside  Tom  in  the  chancel,  reflecting  that, 
although  my  father  was  the  head  of  the  older  stock,  the  noblest 
and  best  of  the  family  came  from  Sir  John,  the  great  Warden  of 
the  March,  and  Governor  of  Bamborough  Castle — the  most  splendid 
possession  of  his  grandchildren. 

There  was  never  a  day,  v/hen  I  was  at  the  Manor  House,  but  I 
passed  some  of  it  within  the  old  walls,  clambering,  exploring,  and 
running  from  one  broken  chamber  to  another,  until  I  knew  every 
chamber  and  every  vault  in  the  great  pile.  When  I  climbed  the 
broken  stairs  and  stood  upon  the  giddy  top  of  the  half -roofed  keep,  I 
used  to  look  around  me  with  such  pride  as  a  Percy  should  feel  a' 
Alnwick  or  at  Arundel.  I  was  prouder  even  than  my  brother  ot 
the  stately  place,  though  he  never  wearied  of  rehearsing  the  great- 
ness of  his  folk.  A  noble  castle,  indeed  !  This  is  none  other  than 
the  Castle  of  King  Ida,  called  the  Royal  House.  King  Edwin 
lived  here  ;  miracles  were  worked  here  by  saints  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  castle  ;  William  Ruf us  sat  down  before  it ;  David 
Bruce  was  a  prisoner  in  it ;  the  breaches  in  the  broken  walls  were 
caused  by  the  cannon  of  the  Yorkists.  Why,  whenever  I  read 
the  history  of  England  in  Holinshed  or  Baker,  I  turned  over  the 


THE  HEIR  OF  BAMBOROUGH 


31 


pages  and  looked  out  the  places  where  the  castle  is  mentioned, 
and  then  my  foolish  heart  would  glow  with  pride.  But  surely  there 
could  be  no  more  delightful  place  for  a  young  girl's  playground  and 
place  of  meditation.  The  keep  alone  remains  entire,  out  of  all  the 
towers,  bastions,  forts,  and  strong  places  which  once  stood  here  ;  but 
their  ruins  still  stand.  In  some  places  there  are  broken  stone  steps 
leading  up  to  chambers  whose  floors  are  gone,  windows  gaping  wide, 
and  roof  long  since  torn  off  ;  in  others  there  are  deep  dungeons, 
open  now  to  the  light  of  heaven.  At  night,  I  used  to  think  the 
groans  of  dead  prisoners  still  ascend  to  the  sky.  From  the  top  of 
the  keep  one  may  look  out  to  sea  and  behold  the  Fames  lying 
beneath  one  as  on  a  map  ;  to  the  north  is  Holy  Island,  with  its 
ruined  church  and  castle  on  a  hill  ;  to  the  south  is  black  Dunstan- 
burgh,  where  the  Seeker  may  be  seen  nightly  by  those  who  look  for 
him  ;  and  inland  lie  the  fields  and  woods  belonging  to  the  Forsters. 
In  early  summer  the  rock  on  which  the  castle  stands,  black  and 
terrible  in  the  winter,  is  covered,  wherever  the  least  ruggedness  affords 
space  for  a  morsel  of  earlh,  with  tufts  of  grass  and  flowers.  There 
are  the  thrift,  the  bell  campion,  and  the  trefoil,  crimson,  white  and 
blue,  very  pretty  to  look  upon.  Later  on,  the  sandhills,  about 
which  the  rabbits  keep  running  all  the  year  round  in  thousands,  are 
covered  with  flowers  of  other  kinds,  the  names  of  which  I  knew  and 
their  properties,  thanks  to  Nurse  Judith  and  Mr.  Hilyard. 

Often  Mr.  Hilyard  came  here  with  me,  telling  out  of  his  vast 
knowledge  stories  of  the  days  when  this  place,  now  so  silent  and 
ruinous,  was  filled  with  knights  and  valiant  men-at-arms,  when  the 
courts  resounded  with  the  hoofs  of  horses,  the  voices  of  the  soldiers, 
and  the  clank  of  iron  heels.  He  could  restore  the  castle  as  it  used 
to  be,  and  would  mark  out  for  me  the  inner  bailly,  the  outer  bailly, 
the  portcullis,  the  postern,  the  outworks,  the  chapel,  the  stables, 
the  kitchens,  and  all,  until  in  imagination  I  knew  the  castle,  as  it 
was  when  the  Percies  were  its  governors.  No  others  came  to  the  old 
castle  except  myself  and  Mr.  Hilyard  ;  it  was  quite  lonely  and 
deserted.  In  stormy  weather  the  waves  leaped  up  to  the  very 
walls,  while  the  gulls  flew  screaming  and  the  wind  whistled.  In 
the  evening,  when  the  twilight  fell,  I  would  sit  among  the  fallen 
stones,  seeing  in  the  shadows  of  the  pile  grim  spirits  of  the  dead,  and 
hearing  in  the  breeze  the  voices  of  departed  saints,  kings,  knights, 
bishops,  sad  prisoners,  brave  men,  and  fair  ladies,  Avhose  ancient  joys 
and  sufferings  made  this  place  as  sacred  as  the  churchyard. 

As  for  Tom,  he  cared  little  about  the  antiquity  of  the  castle  or 
its  past  history  ;  his  chief  desire  being  for  the  time  to  arrive  when 
he  could  call  the  place  his  own  and  be  out  of  tutelage,  and  his  prin- 
cipal occupation  being  hunting  of  fox  and  of  otter,  riding,  shooting, 
fishing,  badger-drawing,  bat-fowling,  netting  of  partridges  with  the 
lanthorn,  setting  decoys  for  ducks,  hawking  on  the  seashore,  stalking 
the  wild  bulls  of  Chillingham,  cock-fighting,  dog-fighting,  with  the 
other  nianly  sports  in  which  young  men  delight.  He  conversed 
much  with  grooms,  keepers,  feeders,  and  falconers,  and  was  experi- 


32 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


enced  in  every  kind  of  sport.  He  also  took  great  pleasure,  in  those 
days,  in  the  wild-fowl  shooting  on  the  islands  ;  many  a  time  he  has 
taken  me  with  him  when  he  had  no  other  companion  (Mr.  Hilyard's 
stomach  being  unable  to  stand  the  motion  of  a  boat).  Then  we 
would  sail  through  the  waves  to  those  wild  and  desolate  rocks 
covered  with  the  nests  of  the  sea-birds  which  rise  screaming  from 
under  the  feet  of  the  rare  visitor.  The  cries  of  the  birds,  the  whirr 
of  their  wings,  the  whistling  of  the  wind,  the  dashing  of  the  waves, 
are  the  only  sounds  upon  these  lonely  islands  where  St.  Cuthbert 
built  his  hermitage.  They  are,  indeed,  a  truly  fitting  place  for  the 
gloomy  recluse,  who  (though  doubtless  a  holy  man)  dared  to  call 
the  half  of  the  Lord's  creatures  unclean,  and  forbade  a  woman  even 
to  set  her  foot  upon  the  place  where  he  resided.  Many  pious  women 
have  gone  into  voluntary  retreat  and  hermitage,  but  one  never  yet, 
I  believe,  heard  of  a  woman  thus  speaking  of  man  as  to  call  him 
unholy  or  unclean.  The  walls  of  St.  Cuthbert's  house  yet  stand  in 
ruins  on  his  deserted  island,  but  there  are  now  no  human  beings 
within  their  shelter. 

I  learned  to  know  all  the  birds  by  their  flight,  their  cry,  and  their 
feathers — the  St.  Cuthbert's  ducks  who  make  nests  of  the  sea- weed, 
the  tomnoddies,  the  skouts,  the  guillemots,  the  shags,  the  kittiwakes, 
the  gulls,  the  brockits,  the  rock-pigeons,  the  sea-larks,  and  the  jack- 
daws who  build  in  the  rabbit-holes.  In  those  days,  who  so  brave 
and  handsome  as  young  Tom  Forster,  leaping  lightly  from  rock  to 
rock,  fowling-piece  in  hand,  his  long  hair  tied  in  a  ribbon,  and 
blown  behind  him  by  the  sea-breeze,  his  grey  eyes  bright,  and  his 
cheek  ruddy  ?  What  but  a  splendid  future  could  await  a  lad  so 
i.;.Lllant  ?  As  for  the  girl  who  ran  beside  him,  as  agile  as  her  brother, 
di-essed  in  short  petticoats  and  thick  shoes  with  woollen  stockings, 
^^he  was  a  slip  of  a  thing  then,  with  dark  brown  eyes  (like  those  of 
her  aunt),  and  long  fair  curls  flying  under  her  hat.  Her  brother, 
though  he  sometimes  swore  at  his  grooms  and  thrashed  the  stable- 
boys,  never  had  a  harsh  or  unkind  word  for  her,  nor  she  any  thought 
for  him  but  of  tender  and  true  affection.  Pity  it  was  that  one  of 
natural  abilities  so  good  would  never  read  and  acquire  wisdom. 

'  The  man  who  reads  not,'  said  Mr,  Hilyard,  'may  get  skill  and 
knowledge,  but  scarcely  wisdom.  The  hind  and  herd  are  men  of 
great  skill  and  knowledge,  the  one  in  ploughing,  sowing,  and  reaping, 
the  other  in  cattle  and  the  creatures  of  field  and  forest.  So  the  old 
wife  in  the  village  learns  the  virtues  of  all  the  herbs  that  grow,  and 
the  sportsman  learns  the  ways  of  the  creatures  whom  he  hunts.  But 
without  books  one  knoweth  not  his  brother  man,  nor  his  own  posi- 
tion and  importance,  nor  the  proportion  which  one  thing  beareth  to 
another  ;  as,  for  instance,  the  opinion  of  a  Northumberland  gentle- 
man compared  with  the  opinions  of  the  City  of  London,  or  that  of 
Will's  Coffee  House.  Thus  the  man  of  no  books  may  easily  con- 
sider his  own  importance  to  be  much  greater  than  it  is  in  the  eyes 
of  others,  and  his  own  doctrines  infallible,  and  his  own  way  of 
thinking  the  only  way  possible  for  honest  men.  Especially  there  is 


THE  HEIR  OF  BAMBOROUGH. 


33 


the  danger  of  over-estimating  his  importance.  It  was  the  ignorance 
as  well  as  the  ambition  of  the  thief  Diophon  which  caused  him  to 
burst  and  die  with  envy  because,  on  his  way  to  be  hanged,  be  found 
that  one  of  his  fellows  was  to  be  treated  to  a  gallows  higher  than 
his  own.' 

I  understood  Mr.  Hilyard  to  be  talking  of  my  brother  Tom  and 
his  companions,  wherefore  I  resented  the  likening  of  Tom  unto  the 
rogue  Diophon,  even  though  he  was  an  ancient  G-reek  ;  and  he 
hastened  to  assure  me  that  the  comparison  was  not  as  to  honesty 
but  as  to  ignorance,  which  if  it  lead  to  self-conceit  even  in  so  base 
a  person  as  a  common  thief,  may  much  more  do  so  in  the  case  of  a 
country  gentleman  of  Northumberland. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HIS  HIGHNESS  THE  PRINCE. 

As  regards  politics,  I  declare  that  I  know  nothing  at  all  of  what 
went  on  in  London  or  anywhere  else  ;  but,  as  for  Northumberland, 
I  can  safely  assert  that  I  have  never  known  a  time  when  there  were 
not,  continually,  whisperings  in  corners,  mysterious  communications, 
breathless  suspense,  a  coming  and  going  of  strangers  or  of  gentle- 
men whom  I  knew  to  be  in  some  way  connected  with  the  cause  of 
the  Prince.  There  were  always  great  things  going  to  happen,  if  we 
were  to  believe  the  people  who  made  it  their  business  to  keep  up  a 
racket  through  the  country  in  order  to  sustain  and  stimulate  the 
loyalty  of  the  party.  His  Highness  was  about  to  embark  ;  a  great 
many  thousand  French  soldiers  were  collecting  for  him  ;  everything 
was  ready  ;  the  country  was  strong  for  the  Prince.  According  to 
these  gentry,  there  never  was  any  doubt  at  all  about  the  voice  of 
the  country.  Why,  when  after  many  years  I  journeyed  to  London, 
I  was  amazed  to  think  of  our  own  ignorance  in  believing  all  these 
statements.  I  do  Mr.  Hilyard  the  justice  of  saying  that  he  never 
did  believe  them.  He  was,  I  know,  a  Whig  by  birth  ;  but,  like  a 
good  servant,  he  became  a  Jacobite  because  we,  in  whose  service 
he  was,  were  of  that  cause.  What  did  London  think  ?  That  was 
ever  his  cry.  Not  London  of  the  coffee-houses  and  St.  James's 
Street,  but  London  of  the  City.  Why,  how  strong  and  resolute 
must  be  the  Protestant  party  of  this  present  day,  seeing  that  it  has 
been  strong  enough  to  stomach  a  King  who  knew  no  word  of 
English,  so  resolute  as  to  keep  him  with  his  ill  manners,  his  ugly 
mistresses,  and  his  German  Court,  rather  than  have  a  Papist  even 
with  all  the  Christian  graces — though  of  these  unfortunately  the 
Prince  hath  few,  which  one  says  with  shame.  This  was  not  under- 
stood in  the  north  ;  many  friends  of  the  Protestant  gentry  were 
Catholics  ;  they  were  English,  however,  first,  and  Catholics  next ; 
not  servants  of  the  Pope  first,  and  English  next. 

*  Why,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  these  are  not  the  Papifit.:;  we  in  the 


34 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


south  have  been  taught  to  fear.  Their  priests  are  courteous  gentle- 
men of  good  English  families  ;  they  show  no  wish  to  roast  us  at 
the  stake  ;  they  are  all  for  toleration.  I  doubt  whether,  if  London 
knew  Northumberland,  the  country  would  any  longer  fear  a  Catholic 
King.  I  hear  there  are  some  in  Scotland  who  believe  that  the 
King  would  be  converted  by  his  coronation,  which  I  doubt.  But 
his  advisers,  if  they  were  English  priests,  not  foreigners,  would 
surely  do  the  country  little  harm.' 

Mr.  Hilyard  always  put  London  before  any  other  part  of  England  : 
doubtless  with  reason,  as  being  the  centre  of  all.  And  he  acknow- 
ledged that  the  people  of  England  will  never  forget  the  blood  and 
fire  of  Queen  Mary,  nor  will  they  cease  to  ask  what  security  there 
is  that  another  Papist  Sovereign  will  not  surround  himself  with 
other  Bonners  and  Gardiners.  Listening  daily  to  the  talk,  I  con- 
ceived a  plan  by  which  everything  might  be  set  right.  Like  all 
children's  plans,  it  was  impossible  :  for  it  was  nothing  less  than 
that  the  Prince  should  imitate  the  example  of  Henry  IV.  of  France, 
and  for  his  crown  change  his  faith.  This,  in  my  eyes,  was  all  the 
easier,  from  the  circumstance  that,  while  Henry  left  the  right  for 
the  wrong,  our  King  would  leave  the  wrong  for  the  right.  Wrong 
or  right,  it  must  have  been  choking  to  King  James  to  hear,  when 
he  went  to  live  in  Rome — even  in  Rome,  where  he  might  look  for 
applause  and  support,  if  anywhere — to  hear,  I  say,  as  he  is  said  to 
have  heard,  a  Cardinal — one  of  the  Holy  College — whisper  to  another, 
with  scorn  unworthy  of  his  sacred  profession  and  dignity,  *  Behold 
the  King  who  threw  away  three  crowns — ^for  a  mass  !' 

There  were  busybodies  who  went  up  and  down  the  country  in 
these  days  whispering,  reporting,  conveying  letters,  drawing  up 
lists,  with  a  mighty  fuss  and  pretence  of  secrecy.  Some  of  them 
were  disguised  ;  some  sent  letters  by  the  hands  of  countrymen,  and 
even  gipsies,  on  whom  they  could  depend  ;  some  were  Irish,  who 
are  ever  ready  to  embark  in  any  mad  scheme  ;  some  were  country 
gentlemen  or  younger  sons  ;  some,  even,  were  High  Church  clergy  ; 
some  were  Roman  Catholic  priests  of  the  intriguing  kind,  who 
dressed  as  laymen — by  dispensation,  one  may  suppose.  As  for  the 
sum  of  these  whisperings,  it  was  always  the  same.  The  country 
was  ripe  ;  at  a  word,  at  the  signal,  the  rising  would  be  general  ;  the 
Prince  was  always  ready.  A  brave  captain,  too,  who  had  shown 
his  valour  at  Oudenarde  and  Malplaquet  (where,  indeed,  he  was 
fighting  against  his  own  countrymen)  ;  one  who  was  eager  to  lead 
his  brave  followers  to  victory,  and  to  reward  them  generously  with 
the  spoil  of  the  Whigs.  These  things  were  industriously  spread 
abroad  among  the  Jacobite  gentry,  especially  of  Lancashire  and 
Northumberland  ;  it  was  firmly  believed  that  the  party  was  irre- 
sistible. And  if  the  gentlefolk  believed  this,  how  much  more  the 
common  people  and  the  ignorant  Scotch,  who  ran  after  their  chief- 
tains to  their  own  destruction  ?  Yet  the  events  of  the  year  1707 
ought  to  have  opened  the  eyes  of  the  party  when  they  saw  a  French 
fleet,  well  manned,  well  found,  well  armed,  with  six  thousand 


HIS  HIGHNESS  THE  PRINCE. 


3S 


soldiers  on  board,  fly  ignominiously  at  the  mere  appearance  of 
Admiral  Byng  and  his  ships.  The  Prince  was  on  board  the  French 
commander  s  ship.  He  prayed  to  be  landed  on  tne  coast  of  Scotland 
— no  one,  whatever  side  he  may  have  taken,  can  doubt  the  gallantry 
of  his  Highness  in  those  days — but  the  prayer  was  refused,  so  that 
he  returned  to  France,  and  presently,  notwithstanding  the  French 
King's  solemn  engagements,  was  driven  out  of  that  country  into 
the  Papal  Dominions.  These  things  prove  the  value  of  the  &rand 
Monarque's  word,  and  also  that  the  English  will  not  have  a  King 
forced  upon  them  by  French  bayonets. 

'  We  wait  our  time,'  Tom  said.  '  When  that  time  comes,  the 
unanimous  rising  of  the  country  gentlemen  will  be  accepted  as  the 
voice  of  the  people.' 

'  Happy  the  man,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  stroking  his  chin,  '  who  rises 
the  last.' 

*  What  ?    And  leave  others  the  glory  and  the  honours  ?' 
He  was  still  a  lad  under  age,  but  in  this  way  he  talked ;  he  and 
his  companions. 

'  It  will  be  the  Protestant  gentry,'  he  said  grandly,  *  though  we 
shall  allow  the  Catholics  to  join  us,  who  will  restore  his  Sacred 
Majesty.  Then  we  shall  find  for  him,  perhaps  out  of  Northumber- 
land, counsellors  wise  enough  to  assure  the  country's  safety.' 

These  were  our  dreams.  Fatal  dreams  they  were,  which  in  the 
end  destroyed  so  many. 

But  always,  in  all  these  talks,  the  gentlemen  spoke  of  the  young 
Lord  Derwent water  and  his  return.  He  would  lead  the  Catholics 
of  the  whole  country.  He  was  a  man  of  whose  opinions,  though  no 
one  had  yet  seen  him  and  he  was  but  a  boy,  there  could  be  no 
doubt ;  his  loyalty  was  beyond  all  possible  question,  he  was  rich, 
he  was  young  and  ardent,  he  was  reported  to  be  possessed  of  every 
virtue.  I  heard  so  much  talk  of  this  young  gentleman  that  he 
became  in  my  imagination  a  person  more  important  even  than  the 
Prince,  concerning  whom  elder  ladies  already  whispered  and  shook 
their  heads.  Besides,  his  Royal  Highness  stood  too  far  away  for  a 
girl  to  think  much  about  him.  The  kings  of  the  earth  are  like  the 
gods  of  the  ancients — one  does  not  picture  them  except  on  coins 
and  in  statues.  But  as  for  Lord  Derwentwater,  who  would  cer- 
tainly some  day  return  to  his  own  people,  he  must  be  as  beautiful 
as  David,  as  noble  as  Arthur,  as  splendid  as  Adonis,  and  as  valiant 
as  Orlando,  or  any  of  the  Seven  Champions.  He  was  to  one  young 
damsel,  and  doubtless  to  many  others,  the  Prince  of  the  old  wife's 
story.  There  are  many  such  stories,  but  only  one  Prince  for  all  of 
them.  He  is  young  and  handsome,  so  was  Lord  Derwentwater  ;  he 
hath  a  noble  and  flourishing  estate,  so  had  my  lord  ;  he  hath  a 
generous  heart  and  a  lavish  hand,  so  had  the  young  Earl  ;  he  is  un- 
married and  free  to  become  a  lover — a  thing  which  always  pleases 
a  girl,  though  she  need  not  be  so  foolish  as  to  think  him  likely  to 
become  her  own  lover — thus  was  my  lord.  To  these  qualities  add 
that  he  had  been  the  youthful  friend,  the  companion,  the  sharer  of 


36 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


the  studies,  even  the  cousin  of  that  young  Prince,  now  our  lawful 
King,  the  rightful  Sovereign  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  acknow- 
ledged by  most  of  the  subjects  (that  is  to  say  by  all  honest  men) 
in  these  islands.  He  would  tell  the  simple  country  folks  when  he 
came  home  of  the  appearance  and  countenance  of  his  Royal  High- 
ness ;  he  would  come  as  a  messenger,  or  an  ambassador — say  rather 
a  Lieutenant-Governor — to  the  North  Country,  to  keep  their  loyalty 
alive. 

The  origin  of  the  Eadcliffes  is  so  remote  as  to  be  unknown. 
Many  of  our  northern  gentry  boast  a  descent  from  the  Norman 
Conquerors.  They,  however,  were  nobles  in  still  earlier  times.  It 
was  not  till  tv/o  hundred  years  ago,  or  thereabouts,  that  a  Radcliffe 
first  came  from  Cumberland  to  the  neighbouring  county,  when  Sir 
William  married  the  heiress  of  Dilston.  The  first  Earl,  Sir  Francis, 
was  created  on  the  marriage  of  his  eldest  son  Edward,  in  the  year 
1686,  with  Lady  Mary  Tudor,  daughter  of  Charles  II.  It  was  an 
unhappy  ma,rriage,  but  as  to  the  reasons  of  the  unhappiness,  one 
need  not  inquire.  It  becomes  not  a  mere  private  gentlewoman  to 
pass  judgment  on  the  actions  of  Earls  and  Countesses  ;  yet  it  must 
not  be  forgotten  that  the  Countess,  within  two  years  of  the  Earl's 
death,  married  two  more  husbands  in  succession. 

After  the  separation  the  Earl  remained  in  London,  in  no  way 
furthering  (so  far  as  I  have  learned)  the  cause  of  his  rightful 
Sovereign.  The  Countess,  however,  took  her  four  children  to 
St.  Germain's,  where  she  brought  them  up  in  the  Court,  and  among 
the  personal  friends,  of  the  Prince.  It  was  feared  by  some  that 
their  French  training  would  have  made  them  become  Frenchmen 
in  habits  and  in  mind.  This  was  not  so,  however,  for  it  may  be 
averred  that  there  never  were  three  young  men  who  more  ardently 
desired  the  greatness  of  their  country,  and  more  loved  liberty  and 
Constitutional  Government,  than  these  three. 

We  were  kept  regularly  informed  of  the  Earl's  movements  and 
those  of  his  brothers  by  the  kindness  of  Sir  William  and  Lady 
Swinburne,  of  Capheaton,  who  received  and  sent  letters  from 
London,  Newcastle,  and  even  St.  Germain's.  They  were  from  the 
Earl  himself.  Sir  William's  cousin,  from  the  Countess,  and  from 
Colonel  Thomas  Radcliffe,  who  chiefly  lived  in  Newcastle.  Sir 
William  Swinburne's  father  married  the  first  Earl's  half-sister,  and 
the  union  was  blessed  by  the  birth  of  four-and-twenty  children. 
Considering  that  the  first  Earl  of  Derwentwater  had  eight  daughters 
and  four  sons,  v/hile  his  father  had  six  sons  and  seven  daughters, 
all  by  his  wife  Isabel,  daughter  of  Sir  Ralph  Grey,  of  Chillingham, 
there  were  plenty  in  the  north  who  could  call  the  young  Lord 
Derwentwater  cousin. 

We  learned,  therefore,  from  their  letters,  year  by  year,  how  the 
Earl  and  his  brothers  were  in  the  hands  of  tutors,  and  were  already 
showing  great  promise  ;  how  they  were  pages  to  the  Prince  ;  that 
it  was  decided  not  to  let  them  carry  arms  in  the  French  King's 
service  ;  that  ihey  would  come  to  England  as  soon  as  the  Earl  was 


HIS  HIGHNESS  THE  PRINCE. 


of  age,  and  so  on,  the  news  always  keeping  up  our  curiosity  about 
this  young  nobleman. 

To  pass  over  several  years,  we  learned,  in  course  of  time,  that  his 
lordship  was  now  fully  grown  ;  that  he  was  a  comely,  well-pro- 
portioned, and  handsome  young  man,  accomplished  in  all  manly 
exercises,  fond  of  reading,  and  well  instructed,  acquainted  with  the 
names  and  pedigrees  of  the  Northumberland  families,  who  were  all 
his  cousins  ;  and  that  he  was  coming  home  to  England  without  delay. 
Then  the  intriguers  sent  word  of  this,  as  of  a  most  important  event, 
about  the  country  ;  the  messengers  rode  north  and  south  with 
letters  ;  there  was  a  stir  in  the  north,  and  it  was  felt  that  now  the 
time  would  shortly  arrive  for  something  to  be  done. 

'But,'  said  Tom,  'we  Protestants  may  not  be  led  by  a  Catholic. 
My  lord  must  be  content  with  being  second.' 


CHAPTEE  V. 

MR.  ANTONY  HILYARD. 

When  Mr.  Antony  Hilyard  i&rst  came  to  us,  as  tutor  to  my  brothers, 
he  was  a  young  man  of  twenty-one  or  twenty-two,  not  long  from 
Oxford.  He  brought  with  him  letters  recommendatory,  in  which 
his  learning  was  highly  approved,  and  was  sent  to  us  by  Mr.  Fer- 
dinando  Forster,  who  heard  of  him  as  a  young  man  desirous  of 
entering  a  gentleman's  family  as  tutor,  in  the  hope  of  becoming 
chaplain,  and  perhaps  rising  in  the  Church.  Although  a  young  man 
of  great  accomplishments  and  vast  knowledge,  he  left  his  University 
without  obtaining  a  degree,  which  was  strange  if  anyone  had 
thought  of  inquiring  into  the  cause  ;  as  for  so  learned  a  scholar 
coming  to  take  a  tutor's  place  in  a  gentleman's  house,  that  was 
nothing,  because  he  was  only  the  son  of  a  vintner,  and  born  in  a 
place  called  Barbican,  London.  Such  a  place  of  honourable  service, 
especially  when  the  master  is  so  easy  a  gentleman  as  my  father,  is 
one  which  all  young  men  of  his  birth  and  parts  should  desire, 
though  some,  as  Mr.  Hilyard  hath  himself  often  told  me,  go  to 
London,  and  there  court  Fortune  as  poets,  playwrights,  translators, 
writers  of  vamped-up  travels,  compilers  of  sermons  for  such  of  the 
clergy  as  lack  the  ability  to  compose  them,  and  such  work,  which  is, 
I  am  informed,  as  poorly  paid  as  it  is  miserable,  and  beneath  the 
consideration  of  a  man  who  values  his  own  dignity.  Mr.  Hilyard 
could  write  and  speak  both  the  French  and  Italian  tongues  ;  he 
was,  besides,  familiar  with  Latin,  Greek,  Hebrew,  and  Chaldaean  ; 
he  was  skilled  in  many  branches  of  the  mathematics  ;  he  could  play 
on  the  spinet  with  great  ease  and  dexterity  ;  he  was  an  excellent 
geographer,  and  could  discourse  for  hours  upon  a  mappa  mundi^  or 
chart  of  the  world  ;  he  could  tell  the  stars  and  their  courses ;  he 
could  converse  with  intelligence  and  to  the  edification  of  nis  near^ra 
on  almost  any  subject,  being  equally  at  home  in  Peru  and  in 


38 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


London ;  knowing  the  Hottentots  and  Japanese  as  well  as  the 
London  Scourers  ;  and  even  in  matters  connected  with  agriculture 
or  housewifery  he  could  talk  learnedly,  being  familiar  with  the 
practice  of  the  ancient  Romans  both  in  their  houses  and  on  their 
farms.  In  a  word,  no  knowledge  came  amiss  to  him  ;  he  despised 
nothing  ;  when  he  took  his  walks  abroad  he  was  always  noting 
something,  whether  the  call  of  a  bird  or  the  habits  of  a  weasel,  a 
wild  flower  or  herb  of  the  field  ;  he  would  ask  a  gardener  about  his 
fruit,  a  shepherd  about  his  sheep,  a  ploughman  about  the  soil,  a 
dairymaid  about  her  cows.  And  what  he  learned  he  never  forgot. 
I  do  not  exhaust  his  accomplishments  when  I  add  that  he  was 
skilled  in  the  art  of  fencing,  and  that  here  he  found  Tom  an  excel- 
lent pupil. 

It  was  impossible  for  any  young  man  to  be  more  grave,  and  even 
solemn,  in  his  bearing  and  conversation  ;  when  Mr.  Forster  invited 
him  to  drink  with  his  friends,  which  he  sometimes  did,  he  was 
seldom  greatly  overcome  with  liquor,  and  even  at  his  worst  pre- 
served his  gravity  ;  he  displayed  none  of  the  disposition  to  levity, 
gallantry,  profane  talk,  and  impious  scoffing  which  is  manifested  by 
so  many  young  men  of  the  present  day  ;  no  woman's  reputation 
suffered  by  any  act  or  word  of  his  :  no  bishop  could  have  been 
more  blameless  in  his  daily  life. 

It  shows  the  strength  of  youthful  impressions  that,  although  I 
know  so  much  better,  I  can  never  now  think  upon  virtue  without 
there  instantly  appearing  before  my  eyes  the  short  squab  figure  of 
Mr.  Hilyard.  He  wears  a  brown  coat,  and  he  has  no  ruffles  to  his 
shirt ;  his  face  is  round  ;  his  nose  broad,  and  a  little  upturned  ;  his 
lips  are  full  and  mobile  ;  his  eyes  are  large  ;  it  is  neither  the  figure 
nor  the  face  of  a  grave  and  learned  person,  yet  was  he  both  grave 
and  learned.  Socrates,  I  have  heard,  was  remarkable  for  a  face  of 
great  plainness,  and  yet  was  a  very  learned  philosopher.  Nor  was 
it  a  face  which  one  would  expect  to  find  in  a  man  of  so  religious 
and  severe  a  turn  as  Mr.  Hilyard.  He  always  went  to  church  first, 
so  to  speak,  and  came  out  of  it  last ;  his  discourse  was  full  of 
examples  gathered  from  ancient  sources  and  learned  authors,  re- 
commending the  practice  of  good  works. 

Conduct  so  blameless,  gravity  so  singular,  wisdom  so  remarkable, 
never  before  seen  in  a  man  so  young,  could  not  fail  to  command, 
before  long,  the  confidence  of  all.  Mr.  Forster  entrusted  his  most 
private  affairs  to  the  counsel  of  Mr.  Hilyard  ;  madam  carried  her 
complaints  to  him  as  to  one  who  would  find  redress  ;  his  pupil,  who 
loved  not  books,  obeyed  him,  was  shamed  out  of  his  rusticity,  and 
was  kept  by  him  from  those  follies  by  which  young  gentlemen  in 
the  country  too  often  suffer  in  reputation  and  imperil  their  souls. 
As  for  myself,  he  took  from  the  earliest  the  kindest  interest  in  my 
welfare,  and  taught  me  many  things  which  I  should  never  have 
learned  but  for  him,  especially  to  read  and  talk  the  French  tongue, 
and  to  play  on  the  spinet.  Lady  Crewe  condescended  to  write  to 
him  concerning  her  nephew,  and  the  Bishop  sent  him  instructions 


MR.  ANTONY  HILYARD. 


39 


as  to  the  authors  which  Tom  should  be  made  to  read.  Tom  did  not 
read  them,  but  he  sometimes  listened  while  Mr.  Hilyard  read  them 
aloud,  and  in  this  manner,  no  doubt,  he  arrived  at  some  knowledge 
of  their  contents. 

This  preamble  makes  what  follows  the  more  astonishing.  One 
evening — it  was  in  August,  and  a  few  weeks  before  Tom  came  of 
age — while  I  was  walking  in  the  garden  of  the  Manor  House,  the 
sun  being  already  set,  Tom  came  running  and  calling  me  : 

*  Come,  sister  !'  he  cried  ;  *  come,  Doll,  quick  !  There  is  some- 
thing worth  looking  at,  I  assure  you.' 

He  took  my  hand,  and  we  ran  into  the  village  street,  which  was 
generally  quiet  enough  at  this  time,  but  this  evening  there  was  a 
great  noise  of  singing  and  laughing,  and  the  playing  of  a  fiddle.  It 
came  from  the  inn. 

'There  is  the  rarest  sport,'  said  Tom.  'A  company  of  players 
are  at  the  inn,  on  their  way  from  Alnwick  to  Berwick.  Who  do 
you  think  is  with  them  ?    Mr.  Hilyard  !' 

'  Mr.  Hilyard  v/ith  the  players  ?' 

'  No  other.  Ho !  ho  !  Laughing  and  drinking  and  playing. 
Yes  ;  you  may  open  your  eyes,  Dolly,  but  there  it  is.  No  other 
than  Mr.  Hilyard  !  You  never  saw  the  like !  Now,  see  ;  if  he 
knows  we  are  watching  him  he  will  stop.  We  can  go  to  the  back 
of  the  house,  and  in  at  the  kitchen-door.  Hush  !  Follow  me,  and 
don't  speak  or  laugh.' 

We  went  on  tiptoe  into  the  kitchen  of  the  inn,  where  the  landlady 
was  sitting.  She  held  up  her  finger,  screwed  her  mouth,  nodded 
her  head,  and  laughed,  indicating  by  these  gestures  that  something 
out  of  the  common  was  going  forward.  She  then  gently  opened 
the  door  which  led  into  the  best  room — not  that  where  the  rustics 
sit  on  wooden  settles  and  push  the  pot  around,  but  that  which  is 
furnished  with  tables  and  chairs,  used  by  gentlemen  and  the  better 
sort.  The  company  consisted  of  about  a  dozen — men  and  women, 
of  various  ages.  They  were  not  gentlefolk,  yet  they  had  an  air 
very  different  from  that  of  the  country  people.  They  were 
poorly  dressed,  yet  had  odds  and  ends  of  finery,  one  of  the  men 
wearing  a  scarlet  coat  and  laced  hat,  planted  sideways  on  his 
great  wig,  and  cocked  like  an  officer  ;  another  with  tattered  lace 
ruffles  ;  a  third  with  a  ragged  coat  of  drugget,  and  yet  a  fine 
flowered  waistcoat.  As  for  the  women,  there  were  five,  of  whom 
one  was  old,  two  others  middle-aged,  two  young.  One  of  the 
last  was  pretty,  after  a  bold  and  impudent  fashion,  having  great 
eyes,  which  she  rolled  about,  and  large,  comely  arms.  She  was 
dressed  very  finely,  as  if  she  was  about  to  mount  the  stage,  with  a 
silk  petticoat  and  satin  frock  looped  up,  and  she  wore  a  low  com- 
mode upon  her  head.  A  bright  fire  was  burning,  though  the  night 
was  not  cold  ;  a  pair  of  candles  were  lighted  ;  on  the  table,  which 
was  pushed  into  a  corner,  stood  a  bowl  of  steaming  hot  punch  ;  and 
on  the  floor,  prancing  about  by  himself,  with  a  thousand  tricks  of 
face  and  twistings  of  his  body,  was — oh  !  wonder  of  wonders, 


40 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


and  who  could  have  believed  it  ? — no  other  than  Mr.  Antony 
Hilyard. 

*  See  him  !^  whispered  Tom.    *  Oh  the  pious  and  religious  man 
Indeed,  I  hardly  recognised  him,  so  changed  he  was.    Why,  he 

had  given,  somehow,  a  martial  air  to  his  wig  ;  his  face  was  twice  as 
long  as  usual  ;  his  eye  was  stern  ;  he  wore  the  air  of  a  commander- 
in-chief  ;  he  carried  his  left  hand  upon  his  hip,  as  one  who  is  a 
marshal  or  prince  at  the  head  of  his  army.  And  he  was  at  least  six 
inches  taller.  How  a  man  can  change  at  will  his  face,  his  stature, 
and  his  appearance  passeth  my  understanding.  (^Nota  bene. — The 
girl,  Jenny  Lee,  was  sitting  in  the  corner  of  the  room  with  her  great 
black  eyes  wide  open  and  her  mouth  agape  ;  but  of  her  I  thought 
nothing,  so  stupefied  was  I  with  the  transformation  of  Mr.  Hilyard.) 

He  beckoned  to  the  actress  who  wore  the  silk  petticoat,  and  she 
laughed,  sprang  to  her  feet,  and — can  such  things  be  possible  ? — be- 
came all  in  a  moment  changed,  and  was  at  once  a  great  lady — a 
princess  or  countess,  at  least.  Why — a  moment  before  she  was  a 
common  stroller  of  the  company — and  now  

*  Pretty  Bracegirdle  herself — the  fair,  the  chaste  Celinda — could 
not  look  the  part  better,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard.  *  Now,  frail  Calista,  for 
the  lines/  Then  they  began  to  recite  verses,  walking  up  and  down 
with  strange  gestures  and  great  vehemence — she  sometimes  sweep- 
ing across  the  floor  as  if  she  had  whole  yards  of  train  behind  her  ; 
he,  as  if  clutching  at  a  sword. 

It  was  the  scene  in  the  '  Fair  Penitent '  in  which  the  unworthy 
Calista  receives  the  vows  of  Altamont.  He  says,  with  a  face  full  of 
exalted  joy  and  looks  of  the  most  tender  love  : 

*  Begone,  dull  cares  !  I  give  you  to  the  winds 
Far  to  be  borne,  far  from  the  happy  Altamont  ! 
Calista  is  the  mistress  of  the  year  : 

She  crowns  the  seasons  with  auspicious  beauty, 
And  bids  even  all  my  hours  be  good  and  joyful.' 

To  which  she,  repentant,  though  he  knows  not  why,  replies,  hiding 
her  head  in  her  hands  : 

*  If  I  were  ever  mistress  of  such  happiness,  ^ 
Oh  !  wherefore  did  I  play  the  unthrifty  fool, 

And,  wasting  all  on  others,  leave  myself 
Without  one  thought  of  joy,  to  give  me  comfort  ?' 

*  He  is  not  drunk,  Tom,'  I  whispered,  wondering  ;  because,  at 
first,  I  thought  that  must  be  Mr.  Hilyard's  condition.  *  It  is  beau- 
tiful.   But  what  are  they  doing  ?' 

*  That  is  play-acting,  simpleton.    Look  at  him  now  !' 

They  had  stopped,  and  gone  on  to  another  scene.  Mr.  Hilyard 
was  now  another  character  ;  his  face  expressed  mingled  emotions  of 
scorn,  pity,  and  sternness,  while  the  actress  declaimed  the  well- 
known  lines  beginning  : 

*  Is  this  the  famous  friend  of  Altamont  ?' 


MR.  ANTONY  HILYARD. 


41 


After  which  came  his  turn,  and  he  spoke  like  one  who  carries  fate 
in  his  hand  : 

*  Alas  !  this  rage  is  vain  ;  for  if  your  fame 
Or  peace  be  worth  your  care,  you  must  be  calm 
And  listen  to  the  means  are  left  to  save  'em.' 

And  so  on — a  strange  wild  scene  of  horror  and  reproach. 

Well,  when  they  finished,  there  was  a  great  shouting  of  applause, 
and  a  swearing,  with  needless  imprecations,  that  Wilks  himself 
could  not  have  played  the  part  better  ;  to  which  Mr.  Hilyard 
replied,  without  any  show  or  pretence  of  modesty,  that  indeed  they 
were  quite  right,  and  that  at  Oxford  he  was  always  understood  to 
be  a  great  deal  better  actor  than  even  that  tragedian. 

He  then  hoped  the  punch  was  to  their  liking,  and  begged  them  to 
fill  their  glasses  again,  which  they  very  willingly  did. 

*  Gentlemen,'  he  said,  '  I  will  now  give  you  another  taste  of  my 
quality.  You  shall  see  that  we  scholars  of  Oxford  are  not  without 
parts.' 

He  thereupon  took  off  his  full  wig,  and  borrowed  a  worn  bobtail 
from  the  oldest  of  the  company,  who  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  toast- 
ing his  toes  and  drinking  his  punch,  without  taking  any  interest  in 
what  was  doing.  He  might  have  been  the  father  of  the  troop,  and, 
in  fact,  was  the  father  of  some  of  them.  Mr.  Hilyard,  then,  borrow- 
ing this  wig,  put  it  on  his  own  head  ;  and,  to  be  sure,  a  most 
ludicrous  appearance  he  did  present.  Never  did  one  imagine  that  a 
change  of  wig  could  make  so  great  a  difference  in  a  man's  appear- 
ance. His  face  became  short  again  ;  his  mouth  was  set  askew,  and 
he  seemed  laughing  with  his  very  eyes. 

'  Why,'  whispered  Tom, '  who  ever  thought  he  could  laugh  at  all  ? 
He  has  been  with  us  five  years,  and  never  a  smile  till  now  !' 

As  the  red  firelight  fell  upon  his  face  it  seemed  brimful  of  mirth, 
joy,  and  merriment,  as  if  he  could  never  do  anything  but  laugh. 
His  eyes  swam  with  cheerfulness  ;  there  was  no  such  thing  as  care 
in  the  whole  world,  one  would  have  thought.  Yet  the  same  face 
that  I  knew  so  well,  although  now  I  seemed  never  to  have  known 
it  before.  Oh  !  figure  of  Virtue  in  a  brown  coat,  and  Piety  with 
sober  face,  and  Learning  with  decorous  gravity,  where  art  thou  ? 

The  actors  looked  at  him  with  admiration.  Not  one  of  them 
could  twist  and  turn  his  face  so  well.  As  for  me,  it  was  not  ad- 
miration, but  amazement. 

*  Didst  ever  see  the  like,  Doll  ?'  whispered  Tom. 

We  still  held  the  door  ajar,  and  peeped  through,  unregarded  by 
any  of  the  company. 

Next,  Mr.  Hilyard,  still  with  this  face  of  smiles,  turned  a  chair 
down,  and  sat  upon  it  as  if  upon  a  saddle.  Then  he  folded  his 
arms,  and  delivered  an  oration  in  verse,  at  which  everybody  laughed 
loud  and  long.  For  my  own  part,  I  saw  nothing  to  laugh  at,  for 
the  verses  were  all  about  everybody  being  an  ass — a  thing  to  make 
people  cry,  rather  than  laugh.    The  cit,  they  said,  v.  as  an  ass,  the 


42 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


soldier  was  an  ass,  the  lawyer  was  an  ass,  the  sailor  was  an  ass,  and 
so  forth.  Perhaps  the  punch  made  the  company  the  better  disposed 
to  laugh.  When  the  speaker  had  finished,  they  all  protested,  with 
profane  oaths,  that  Will  Pinkiman  himself  had  never  given  that 
epilogue  better. 

*  Will  Pinkiman,  gentlemen !'  cried  Mr.  Hilyard,  getting  off  his 
chair.  *  A  fig  for  Will  Pinkiman  !  Why,  though  to  be  sure  he  hath 
some  merit,  where  is  his  fire  compared  to  mine  ?' 

'  Where,  indeed,  sir  ?'  repeated  the  fellow  in  the  scarlet  coat,  with 
his  tongue  in  his  cheek.  '  A  better  than  Will  Pinkiman  is  here.  I 
drink  your  health,  sir.' 

'  Gentlemen,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  an  evening  like  this  does  one 
good.  Believe  me,  I  have  never  sung  a  single  song,  or  played  a 
single  piece,  for  five  years.  In  the  north  a  man  of  my  parts  is  truly 
wasted  and  thrown  away.' 

'  Come  with  us,  sir,'  said  the  youngest  actress,  who  had  played 
Calista  with  him.  '  Sure,  a  gentleman  like  you  would  make  a 
fortune  on  the  boards.' 

'  Nay,  fair  Calista,  or  Celinda,  as  thou  wilt.  There,  indeed,  you 
must  hold  me  excused.  Had  your  boards  been  the  boards  of  Old 
Drury,  it  might  be  different.  In  that  Temple  of  Thespis  would  be 
my  proper  home.' 

He  then  called  for  another  bowl  of  punch  to  be  got  ready  against 
the  other's  giving  out,  and  taking  up  a  fiddle  which  belonged  to  one 
of  the  company,  he  struck  a  chord  or  two,  and  began  to  play  very 
sweetly.  First  he  played  the  tune  of  '  May  Fair,'  then  of  '  Cheshire 
Hounds,'  then  '  Ye  Lasses  and  Lads,'  and  lastly  he  played  '  The 
Countryman's  Delight.'  After  which  he  laid  down  the  bow,  and 
looked  about  for  applause,  which  came  in  thunders. 

'  Why,'  whispered  Tom,  '  I  thought  he  could  play  none  but 
Psalm  tunes  on  the  spinet.' 

This  done — just,  I  suppose,  to  show  the  players  another  of  his 
accomplishments — he  gave  back  the  fiddle  to  its  owner,  and  requested 
him  to  play  an  air  which  he  named,  and,  I  suppose,  was  very  well 
known,  to  which  he  said  he  would  sing  a  little  song  of  his  own 
composition. 

'  Lord  !'  Tom  murmured,  '  he  is  going  to  sing  next.' 

He  did  sing,  having  a  very  sweet,  melodious,  and  powerful  voice, 
not  slurring  his  words  as  some  singers  do,  for  the  sake  of  harmonizing 
the  tune,  nor  forgetting  his  tune  in  order  to  give  more  emphasis  to 
his  words,  as  is  the  way  with  others. 

*  Sweet  Amoret,  'tis  you,  I  vow, 

Whose  soft,  prevailing  charms 
Have  bound  my  hopes  of  heaven  now 
To  live  within,  to  live  within  thine  arms. 

*  But  if  condemned  by  thy  disdain, 

And  of  th}^  smiles  bereft  ; 
Still  let  me  nurse  the  tender  pain, 
Though  no  more  hope,  though  no  more  hope  be  left. 


MR.  ANTONY  HTLYARD. 


43 


He  stakes  his  all  to  win  or  lose, 

Who  sets  his  hopes  so  high, 
And  finds  too  late  he  cannot  choose 

But  still  to  love,  but  still  to  love — and  die.' 

*  Mr.  Tofts  himself,'  said  the  fair  Celinda  (or  frail  Calista),  wiping 
a  tear — but  I  fear  a  false  one — '  could  not  have  sung  this  song  more 
sweetly,  or  more  touched  my  heart.' 

Mr.  Hilyard  smiled  as  one  who  is  superior  even  to  Mr.  Tofts, 
and  said  that,  for  a  private  man,  not  a  professor  of  the  Art,  he 
thought  he  had  sung  his  own  foolish  song  indifferent  well.  But, 
oh  !  you  may  think  of  the  surprise  of  the  girl  peeping  through  the 
door.    He  to  sing  a  love-song  !    Would  skies  drop  next  ? 

Now  I  was  not  so  young  or  so  ignorant  but  I  could  plainly  see 
that  whether  Mr.  Hilyard  acted  or  sang  well  or  ill,  the  company 
were  fooling  him  for  the  sake  of  his  punch.  Also  that  they  looked 
on  with  approval  while  the  girl  with  the  soiled  silk  petticoat  and 
the  large  eyes  plied  their  entertainer  with  praise,  and  kept  filling 
his  glass  between  the  performances.  After  the  song  she  said  that 
she  would  like  nothing  so  much  as  to  rehearse  with  him  a  scene 
from  the  '  Mourning  Bride  that  she  had  all  her  life  been  looking 
for  some  gentleman,  not  a  common  actor,  but  a  gentleman  (here 
the  men  grinned)  who  could  not  only  give  the  lines  with  fire,  but 
also  look  the  part,  and  be  as  handsome  in  his  person  and  courtly  in 
his  manner  as  Mr.  Hilyard  (here  he  stroked  his  chin  and  wagged 
his  head  and  smiled,  but  the  men  grinned  again,  and  took  more 
punch).  But,  she  said,  taking  out  her  handkerchief  and  weeping, 
unluckily,  as  all  her  friends  present  knew  well,  she  could  not  afford 
a  dress  becoming  to  the  part,  and  even  had  to  play  queens  and 
chambermaids  in  the  same  frock,  so  unhappy  she  was.  The  other 
women  murmm-ed,  '  Poor  thing  !  and  Gospel  truth  !  and  the  Lord 
knows  !  But  a  kind  gentleman  !'  The  men  took  more  whisky 
punch,  and  Mr.  Hilyard,  now  a  little  flushed  with  praise  and  punch 
combined,  and  the  girl's  eyes,  which  were  kept  fixed  upon  him  (so 
the  cunning  snake  charms  the  silly  coney),  and  her  wheedling  voice 
— ^for  she  had  a  very  soft  and  winning  voice — began  to  shed  tears 
too,  out  of  compassion,  and  lugging  out  his  purse,  swore — could  one 
believe  that  he  should  ever  swear  ? — that  she  should  make  such  an 
appearance  on  the  stage  as  would  show  off  her  beautiful  face  and 
lovely  figure  to  the  best  advantage,  and  gave  her  two  or  three  guineas. 
She  fell  on  her  knees,  calling  him  her  preserver  and  her  patron. 
The  other  women  held  up  their  hands,  crying,  '  Oh,  the  generous 
gentleman !  And  this  comes  of  a  feeling  heart,  and  of  knowing 
what  acting  should  be !  And  heaven,  surely,  hath  its  choicest  bless- 
ings for  one  so  good  of  heart !'    But  the  men  took  more  punch. 

Then  Mr.  Hilyard  raised  the  cunning  jade  (who  I  could  see  very 
well  was  only  pretending)  and  lifted  her  on  his  own  knee,  and 
began  to  kiss  her,  the  other  women  murmuring  that  an  honest  girl 
might  let  the  gentleman  have  so  much  liberty  in  return  for  his 
goodness. 


44 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


*  0  Lord  !  0  Lord  V  muriniired  Tom.  *  This  after  wliat  he  said 
to  me  only  yesterday  !' 

The  men  tipped  the  wink  to  each  other,  and  drank  more  punch. 
Then,  as  Mr.  Hilyard  showed  no  sign  of  any  more  acting,  one  of 
them,  putting  down  his  glass,  began  to  sing  a  song,  at  which  the 
women  stopped  their  ears  and  the  men  began  to  laugh,  and  Tom 
dragged  me  away.  And  so  an  end  of  the  most  wonderful  evening 
ever  seen. 

*  Now,'  cried  Tom,  ^  what  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Hilyard,  Dorothy  ?' 

*  Truly,  Tom,'  I  replied,  '  I  know  not  what  to  think  or  to  say.' 

'  Nor  I.  Well,  he  hath  fooled  us  all  ;  but  we  have  found  him 
out.  Why,  if  he  had  only  told  me  before  what  he  could  do,  what 
evenings  should  we  have  had  in  this  dull  old  house  !  After  all, 
there  are  only  a  few  months  to  wait.  Dorothy,  breathe  not  a  word 
to  my  father  or  to  J ack.' 

Amazed,  indeed,  I  was  that  Mr.  Hilyard,  of  all  men,  should  per- 
form these  antics !  As  well  expect  the  Bishop  of  Durham,  Lord 
Crewe  himself,  that  venerable  Father  of  the  Church,  to  stand  up 
for  the  Cobbler's  Dance,  or  the  Yicar  of  Bamborough,  a  divine  of 
great  gravity,  to  grin  through  a  horse-collar  ! 

*  In  the  morning,'  said  Tom,  who  seemed  as  much  delighted  at  the 
discovery  as  I  was  amazed  and  grieved  (for  surely  it  is  sad  to  find 
folly  in  a  wise  man's  mouth — oh,  how  often  had  he  admonished  us 
both  out  of  Solomon's  Proverbs  !) — '  in  the  morning  you  shall  see 
me  smoke  old  Sobersides.' 

Well,  in  the  morning,  when  I  expected  the  poor  man  to  appear 
crestfallen  and  full  of  shame,  Mr.  Hilyard  came  down  exactly  the 
same  to  look  upon  as  usual,  save  that  he  seemed  thirsty.  To  be 
sure,  he  knew  not  that  he  had  been  observed.  Yet  surely  he  must 
have  remembered,  with  repentance,  the  foolishness  of  the  night. 

*  I  have  heard,  sir,'  said  Tom  presently,  looking  as  meek  as  a 
sheep,  '  that  a  company  of  players  passed  through  the  town  last 
night.' 

Mr.  Hilyard  replied  that  a  report  to  that  effect  had  also  reached 
his  ears.  He  then  proceeded  to  pronounce  a  eulogium  on  the  Art 
of  Acting,  which,  he  said,  was  in  his  opinion  second  only  to  the 
divine  gifts  of  poetry  and  music  ;  that  a  man  who  was  able  to  act 
should  behave  with  modest  gratitude  for  the  possession  of  so  great 
a  quality  ;  and  he  proceeded  to  give  examples  to  prove  the  greatness 
of  actors,  from  Roscius,  who  made  a  fortune  of  fifty  millions  of 
sesterces — which  seems  a  prodigious  great  sum,  though  I  know  not 
how  many  guineas  go  to  make  a  sesterce — unto  the  great  Monsieur 
Baron,  still  living,  and  the  favourite  of  the  Paris  ladies,  although 
he  was  retired  from  the  stage  for  twelve  years  and  more. 

*  Have  you  yourself,  sir,'  asked  Tom,  '  ever  witnessed  the  per- 
formance of  a  play  in  London  ?' 

*  It  hath  been  my  good  fortune  on  many  occasions,'  replied  his 
tutor,  '  to  see  the  play  both  at  Drury  Lane  and  the  Haymarket. 
Perhaps  I  may  be  permitted  to  witness  the  exhibition  of  that 
divine  Art  again  before  I  die.' 


MR,  ANTONY  HILYARD. 


45 


•  The  best  tragic  actor  is  said  to  be  Mr.  Wilks,  is  he  not  ?'  asked 
ToTP,  while  Dorothy  blushed. 

'Mr.  Wilks  hath  certainly  a  great  name,'  replied  Mr.  Hilyard. 
*  Though  I  knew  not  you  had  heard  of  these  things,  Tom.' 

'  And  in  comic  parts  one  "Will  Pinkiman,  I  have  been  told,'  said 
Tom,  '  is  considered  the  best.' 

'  He  certainly  is,'  replied  Mr.  Hilyard,  with  some  surprise.  'Who 
hath  told  you  of  Will  Pinkiman  ?' 

'  Could  you,  sir,  give  us  any  example  or  imitation  of  this  in- 
genious man  ?  One  would  like  to  know  how  Pinkiman,  for  instance, 
pronounced  the  comical  epilogue  seated  on  an  ass,  on  whose  head 
he  had  placed  a  wig.' 

Mr.  Hilyard,  somewhat  disconcerted,  changed  colour,  and  drank 
off  a  pint  or  so  of  the  small-ale  with  which  he  made  his  breakfast. 
Then  he  hemmed  solemnly,  and  replied  gravely  : 

'  Such  an  imitation  is  not,  indeed,  beyond  my  powers.  And  I 
perceive,  Tom,  that  thou  hast  heard  something  of  yesterday  evening, 
and  perhaps  witnessed  the  entertainment  which  I  provided  for  those 
poor  but  virtuous  and  ingenious  people  who  passed  the  night  at  the 
inn.  The  Art  of  Acting  was  not  included  in  the  subjects  which 
your  father  and  Lady  Crewe  considered  necessary  for  a  gentleman. 
Therefore,  I  have  abstained  from  ever  speaking  of  it.  Certainly  it 
is  no  more  necessary  than  that  of  painting,  playing  an  instrument, 
sculpture,  singing,  carving,  or  any  of  those  arts  by  which  the  daily 
life  of  the  rich  is  embellished  and  in  some  countries  the  lives  of  the 
poor  are  made  happy.' 

He  then,  with  so  much  gravity  that  one  could  not  but  remember 
the  merry  face  of  last  night,  proceeded  to  discourse  upon  the  im- 
personation of  character,  and  actually  depicted  before  us,  without 
leaving  his  chair,  and  simply  by  changing  the  expression  of  his  face, 
and  by  various  gestures  of  his  hands,  the  diverse  emotions  of  pity, 
terror,  awe,  expectancy,  resignation,  wrath,  revenge,  submission, 
love,  jealousy,  and  suspicion,  and  all  so  naturally,  and  with  so  much 
dignity,  that  we  were  awed,  and  when  we  expected  to  laugh,  or  to 
make  the  poor  man  ashamed,  we  were  made  ashamed  ourselves. 

He  concluded  by  warning  us  that,  if  we  chanced  to  see  a  man 
who  possessed  this  genius  performing  a  foolish  or  mean  part,  we 
must  be  careful  not  to  confound  the  man  with  the  character  which 
he  assumed  ;  to  remember  that  many  illustrious  persons,  including 
the  Grand  Monarque  himself,  had  figured  in  operas,  ballets,  comic 
pieces,  and  burlettas,  not  to  speak  of  Nero,  a  great  artist,  though  a 
great  monster,  and  Commodus  ;  and  to  regard  the  stage  as  the 
finest  school  in  the  world  for  virtue  and  good  manners  ;  although 
as  yet  it  must  be  owned,  he  said,  that  there  was  still — as  regards 
Comedy — something  to  desire. 

'  Who  would  think,'  said  Tom,  when  he  had  concluded,  and  left 
us  gaping  at  each  other,  *who  would  think  that  only  yesterday 
evening  he  was  hugging  and  kissing  the  actress  ?' 

Now  this  event  happened  a  very  short  time  before  Tom  came  of 


46 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


age.  He  spoke  no  more  about  it  to  me,  nor  did  Mr.  Hilyard  again 
discourse  of  acting.  It  was  not  till  a  week  before  his  birthday  that 
Tom  opened  upon  the  subject  again. 

*  Dorothy,'  he  said,  '  I  have  been  thinking  that  for  Mr.  Hilyard  to 
go  away,  when  he  hath  become  so  useful  to  all  of  us,  would  be  a 
great  pity.' 

'  Why  should  Mr.  Hilyard  leave  us,  Tom  ?' 

*  Why,  child,  a  man  needs  no  tutor  or  guardian  when  he  is  twenty- 
one  years  of  age.  As  for  you  and  me,  we  shall  live  together  ;  but 
you  will  miss  him  more  than  I,  especially  when  I  am  away  with  my 
friends.' 

*  Oh,  Tom,  who  will  '    But  here  I  stopped,  because  there 

were  so  many  things  that  Mr.  Hilyard  did  for  us  that  I  could  not 
tell  which  to  begin  with. 

'  Who  will  keep  the  accounts — look  after  the  cellar,  the  stables, 
and  the  dogs  ;  make  my  flies,  look  after  my  feeders  and  my  cocks  ; 
read  books  with  you,  talk  about  the  Romans,  spout  poetry,  and — 
what,  Dorothy  ?' 

'  Sing  soLgs  and  play  the  fiddle,  Tom  ?'  I  asked  timidly,  because 
I  had  never  dared  to  ask  Mr.  Hilyard  to  repeat  that  pretty  per- 
formance. 

*  And  act  like  Will  Pinkiman,  and  keep  a  whole  roomful  of  men 
in  a  continual  laugh — who,  Dorothy  ?' 

*  Why,  no  one,  Tom.' 

*  There  is  no  one.  I  believe  there  is  no  one  in  all  England  who 
can  act,  and  play,  and  sing  like  Mr.  Hilyard,  demure  as  he  looks, 
and  purring  like  a  cat  all  these  years.  Dorothy,  if  madam  had  seen 
him !' 

'  Oh,  Tom  !    Don't  tell  her.' 

*  I  am  not  going  to  tell  her.  Now,  listen,  child  :  I  have  a  plan, 
and  I  will  tell  thee  what  it  is.  He  hath  been  with  us  so  long  that 
he  knows  our  affairs  and  our  most  private  concerns.  I  doubt  not 
that  he  is  honest,  and  his  play-acting — did  you  ever  see  the  like  ?' 

Tom  fell  into  a  kind  of  reverie,  and  remained  speechless  for  a 
while.  Then  he  broke  out  into  a  great  fit  of  laughter,  and  began  to 
imitate  Mr.  Hilyard's  face  and  speech  (but  at  a  long  distance)  when 
he  sat  upon  the  chair  : 

*  "  Your  fighting  ass  is  a  Bully, 
Your  sneaking  ass  is  a  Cit, 
Your  keeping  ass  is  a  Cully, 
Your  top  prime  ass  is  a  Wit." 

How  well  he  did  it,  sister  !  I  have  thought  it  over,  my  mind  is 
quite  made  up  ;  I  will  ask  him  to  stay  with  me.  He  shall  be  my 
secretary  or  clerk,  the  steward  of  my  affairs  ;  he  shall  keep  my 
books  for  me,  and  deal  with  my  tenants.  As  for  me,  I  shall  ride, 
shoot,  fish,  and  entertain  my  friends  ;  in  the  evening,  Mr.  Hilyard 
shall  have  as  much  drink  as  he  likes,  and  shall  sing,  play,  and  act  for 
the  amusement  of  my  company.  I  will  give  him,  besides  his  meat 
and  drink,  five-and-thirty  pounds  a  year  in  money.' 


MR.  ANTONY  HILYARD. 


47 


On  the  twenty- first  birthday  there  were  rejoicings  and  a  great 
feast  held.  Strange  to  see  how  Tom  (who  had,  to  be  sure,  been 
longing  eagerly  for  the  day)  stepped  into  his  place,  no  longer  a 
minor,  but  now  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  county.  His  head  had 
been  shaved,  and  he  wore  for  the  first  time,  but  rather  awkwardly, 
a  beautiful  full  wig,  the  curls  of  which,  hanging  over  his  shoulders, 
greatly  set  forth  the  natural  beauty  of  his  features,  and  lent  dignity 
to  his  appearance.  He  was  also  dressed  in  a  purple  coat  with 
crimson  lining,  a  white  silk  waistcoat,  and  scarlet  leather  shoes  with 
gold  buckles  (they  had  belonged  to  Mr.  Ferdinando),  and  he  wore, 
for  the  first  time,  a  sword. 

*  Now,  Dorothy,'  he  said  complacently,  '  I  feel  I  am  a  man  at  last. 
Remember  what  I  said  about  Mr.  Hilyard.' 

Among  those  who  offered  their  congratulations  was  the  tutor  ; 
but  he  wore  a  sad  downcast  countenance,  because  he  looked  for 
nothing  less  than  to  be  sent  away,  his  business  being  at  last  accom- 
plished, and  his  pupil  now  of  age. 

He  laid  down  his  office,  he  said,  with  as  much  regret  as  Seneca, 
once  tutor  to  the  Emperor  Nero.  '  But,'  he  added,  '  my  own  worth 
falls  as  far  short  of  that  philosopher  as  my  pupil's  character  sur- 
passes that  of  Nero.  Wherefore,  in  parting  from  so  generous  a 
patron,  I  have  no  other  consolation  than  the  recollection  of  faithful 
service  in  the  cultivation  of  so  fruitful  a  soil  as  the  brain  of  Mr. 
Forster,  and  the  hope  of  letters  recommendatory  which  may  obtain 
for  me  other  and  equally  suitable  employment.' 

'  Truly,  suitable,'  said  Tom,  laughing.  Mr.  Hilyard  blushed,  but 
the  rest  wondered.  *  As  for  parting,'  Tom  went  on,  *  there  go  two 
to  make  a  parting.    Why  not  stay  with  me  ?' 

The  poor  tutor,  whose  face  had  been  growing  longer  day  by  day 
for  two  months,  shook  his  head. 

'My  occupation,'  he  said,  'is  gone.' 

'  As  for  occupation,'  Tom  replied,  '  what  say  you  to  board  and 
lodging,  as  much  wine  and  punch  as  you  can  hold  whenever  there 
is  company,  and  five-and- thirty  pounds  a  year  ?' 

'  But  the  duties — the  work  ' 

'  Why — that  is  the  work,  to  eat  and  drink,  and  make  merry.' 

'  Mr.  Hilyard  to  eat  and  drink,  and  make  merry  ?'  cried  madam. 
'Make  merry?  He?' 

'Why,'  said  Tom,  'that  is  what  we  are  asking  him  to  do.  He 
will  be  strange  to  it  at  first,  I  fear.  But  I  warrant  you,  give  him 
but  a  month,  and  you  shall  see  a  change  indeed.  He  will  then  be 
able  to  sing  like  Mr.  Tofts,  act  like  Will  Pinkiman,  drink  like 
— like  any  man  among  us,  play  the  fiddle,  and  ' 

'Is  it  possible,  Mr.  Hilyard?'  asked  my  father.  'Ho!  ho!  I 
believe  no  more  in  grave  faces.  This  is  indeed  a  hiding  of  lights 
beneath  a  bushel.'    For  the  tutor  hung  his  head  and  looked  foolish. 

'If  you  want  any  other  occupation,'  Tom  continued,  'there  are 
accounts  to  keep,  tenants  to  reprove,  grooms  and  feeders  to  over- 
look, my  sister  to  amuse,  and,  in  fact,  all  the  things  you  have  done 
for  the  last  five  years.' 


48 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


*  Your  honour  means  this  seriously  ?'  asked  Mr.  Hilyard. 

*  Certainly  I  do.' 

*  Then,  sir  ' — his  face  lightened,  and  he  looked  round  him  with  a 
cheerful  smile — ^  I  accept  your  generous  offer  gratefully.  I  confess 
that  the  position  and  work  of  a  tutor  have  ever  been  distasteful  to 
me,  and  I  have  only  hidden  those  small  accomplishments  of  mine, 
which  now  you  have  discovered,  because  I  feared  they  would  be 
considered  inconsistent  with  an  almost  sacred  calling.' 

'  Why,  then,  there  is  no  more  to  say,'  cried  Tom,  *  except  to 
shake  hands  upon  it.' 

*  Yet  there  is  one  condition,  if  I  may  venture  ' 

'  Venture,  man.' 

*  I  pray  that  I  be  not  expected  to  go  fox-hunting.  I  love  not,  in 
truth,  to  risk  my  neck  for  a  thing  I  never  see,  and  which  if  I  were 
to  get  I  should  not  want.' 

'  That  is  granted,'  said  Tom,  laughing,  because  some  of  Mr.  Hil- 
yard's  adventures  on  horseback  had  been  ludicrous  to  the  beholders, 
but  painful  to  himself. 

'  There  is  also  one  other  thing.'  Mr.  Hilyard  continued,  with  a  look, 
sideways,  at  myself,  of  which  I  afterwards  thought  with  a  kind  of 
pity.  *  A  faithful  steward  wants  the  whole  day  for  the  manage- 
ment of  your  honour  s  business  and  the  occasions  and  services  of 
Miss  Dorothy.  I  would,  with  submission,  ask  that  I  be  only  invited 
to  lay  aside  those  duties  in  the  evening,  when  I  shall  be  always 
pleased  to  place  my  poor  talents,  such  as  they  are,  at  the  service  of 
your  honour  and  your  friends.' 

'  My  hand  on't,'  said  Tom  heartily,  *  and  so,  honest  Tony ' — ^he 
called  him  Tony  on  that  day  and  ever  afterwards.  Yet  hitherto  he 
had  never  spoken  to  him  except  bareheaded  as  to  a  parent  or  superior, 
and  called  him  always  '  Sir.'  So  quickly  does  a  young  man  change 
when  he  comes  to  his  twenty-first  year.  *  So,  honest  Tony,  thou 
prince  of  brave  topers,  stay  with  me.  Read  your  books  with  missy 
all  the  day,  but,  by  gad,  all  night  you  shall  sing  and  drink  your  fill 
with  the  best  company  in  the  county  !' 

*  Are  we  dreaming  ?'  cried  madam. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  CHIEF  CREDITOR. 

It  was  in  this  way  that  our  tutor  remained  with  us.  My  brother 
never  did  a  wiser  thing,  nor  made  a  better  bargain  ;  for  if  Mr. 
Hilyard  was  serviceable  before,  he  was  ten  times  as  serviceable  now, 
by  his  care  and  watchfulness  saving  expense  here  and  preventing 
waste  there.  He  took,  in  a  word,  the  conduct  of  all  Tom's  affairs, 
showing  himself  as  capable  and  competent  in  administration  as  he 
had  been  a  faithful  tutor. 

For  my  own  part  (not  to  speak,  more  than  can  be  helped,  of  the 


THE  CHIEF  CREDITOR, 


49 


way  in  which  his  evenings  were  too  often  employed),  I  found  him 
a  much  more  delightful  companion  now  that  he  had  no  occasion  for 
the  austerity  of  a  tutor.  Yet  he  preserved  his  gravity  during  the 
working  hours  of  the  day. 

'  I  may  at  some  time  of  my  life,'  he  said,  '  take  upon  me  the  vows 
of  Holy  Orders,  for  which  I  have  ever  had  an  ardent  desire.  One 
would  almost  as  soon  preach  in  a  London  church  as  deliver  verses 
on  the  boards  of  Drury  Lane,  except  for  the  applause,  which,  in 
the  Early  Church,  was  not  wanting.  Wherefore  I  still  cultivate  the 
habit  of  a  decorous  carriage.  Yet  I  confess  to  you.  Miss  Dorothy, 
that  there  have  been  moments,  before  Mr.  Forster  came  of  age, 
when  I  have  had  a  vehement  yearning  upon  me  to  put  on,  as  I  may 
say,  the  old  Adam.    That  temptation  has  now  disappeared.' 

Probably,  as  he  put  on  the  natural  Adam  nearly  every  evening,  the 
cause  of  the  temptation  was  removed.  'Twas  as  if  a  gambler  should 
cease  to  feel  the  desire  for  gambling  in  the  morning  after  he  had 
begun  to  gamble  every  night.  Mr.  Hilyard  became,  in  fact,  much 
more  pleasant.  He  would  play  tender  and  moving  airs  upon  the 
fiddle,  and,  though  he  reserved  his  powers  of  imitation  and  drollery 
for  the  gentlemen  (ladies  being  too  often  unrcble  to  see  anything  to 
laugh  at  in  what  pleases  men  after  supper),  he  would  sometimes  sing 
very  sweetly  such  songs  as  'Love  finds  out  the  way,'  or  'Jockey's 
Lamentation.'  And  often  when  we  were  alone,  my  brother  being 
away  with  friends,  he  would  beguile  an  evening  with  a  scene  from 
Shakespeare,  which  he  would  act  and  read  with  surprising  force. 

I  need  not  speak  of  his  powers  wholly  with  admiration,  because 
their  exercise  had  led  him,  as  will  presently  be  seen,  to  disgrace  and 
almost  t  ruin.  It  was,  when  one  thinks  of  it,  a  truly  dreadful 
thing  for  a  man  who  was  a  scholar  and  a  student  of  theology,  of 
great  learning,  noble  parts,  and  true  eloquence,  to  be  carried  away 
by  a  love  of  buffoonery  and  the  desire  to  display  a  monkey-like 
power  of  imitation.  A  pretty  reward,  indeed,  of  his  labours  as 
tutor,  to  be  made  the  Merry  Andrew,  Clown,  and  Tom  Fool  of  the 
whole  company  whenever  Tom  gathered  his  friends  together. 
Ought  they  not  rather  to  be  ashamed  of  seeing  so  learned  a  man 
thus  lower  himself  ?  Yet  they  showed  no  signs  of  compunction  or 
shame,  but  at  each  new  monkey-trick  they  cheered  the  louder  and 
laughed  the  longer.  Happily,  women  are  removed  from  this  tempta- 
tion (though  we  have  plenty  left).  We  do  not  desire  to  be  continually 
laughing,  and  we  cannot  understand  what  there  is  in  most  things  to 
laugh  at,  nor  why,  because  men  get  together,  they  must  be  for  ever 
singing,  laughing,  and  making  merry.  Everybody  will  understand, 
however,  that  this  strange  thing  was  speedily  bruited  abroad,  and 
that  the  possession  of  this  entertaining  Oxford  scholar  brought 
gentlemen  to  our  house.  My  brother,  easy  and  hospitable,  loved  to 
entertain  his  friends,  and  they,  not  to  be  behindhand,  constantly 
returned  the  compliment,  especially  in  the  hunting  season,  so  that 
there  was  seldom  a  week  without  a  feast  and  a  carouse. 

My  time,  from  the  year  1707  to  the  year  1710,  was  spent  chiefly 

4 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


with  Tom  at  the  Manor  House.  In  the  latter  year  Lord  Derwentwater 
came  home,  which  made  a  great  change,  as  you  will  presently  hear, 
for  all  of  us.  In  the  morning  it  was  my  duty,  even  when  quite 
young,  to  order  the  household,  so  that  I  became,  in  course  of  time, 
a  notable  woman,  skilled  in  the  preparation  of  conserves,  jellies, 
pies,  cakes,  biscuits,  puddings,  stuffings,  strong  waters,  perfumes, 
and  home-made  wines  ;  good  at  embroidery,  and  able  to  play  the 
spinet  with  some  freedom  and  delicacy  ;  also,  I  could  make  and 
mend,  cut  out,  fashion,- sew,  and  trim  with  any  woman  :  in  such 
pursuits  my  forenoon  was  entirely  occupied,  as  well  as  that  of  my 
still-room  maid,  who  was  no  other  than  that  J enny  Lee,  the  Mid- 
summer Witch,  when  we  all  had  our  fortunes  told — I  am  bound  to 
say  that,  whatever  her  subsequent  conduct,  she  was  the  most  faith- 
ful, dexterous,  and  zealous  maid  to  me,  and  I  never  had  the  least 
fault  to  find  with  her.  My  old  nurse,  Judith  (who  had  been  Tom's 
nurse  as  well,  and  loved  not  madam),  sat  all  day  long  in  her  arm- 
chair, reposing  after  a  life  spent  in  faithful  service.  One  morning 
she  slept  so  long  beside  the  fire  that  I  tried  to  awaken  her  for 
dinner  ;  but  could  not,  for  she  had  slept  through  her  passage  from 
this  world  to  the  next. 

In  the  afternoon,  dinner  over,  Mr.  Hilyard  would  sometimes  read 
aloud  out  of  a  book,  or  we  would  read  French  together,  or  he  would 
discourse  upon  matters  of  high  import ;  or  he  would  walk  with  me 
in  the  castle,  or  upon  the  sands,  or  across  the  fields,  finding  always 
something  of  instruction.  Let  me  never  forget  how  much  I  am 
indebted  to  this  good  and  patient  man. (good  and  patient  all  the  day, 
that  is ;  though  in  those  days  somewhat  deboshed  with  drink  at 
night).  It  is  through  him  that  I  learned  something  of  history, 
geography,  knowledge  of  the  world  we  live  in,  and  the  stars  beyond  ; 
yea,  even  my  humble  gratitude  to  the  Divine  Designer  and  Archi  - 
tect  of  the  Universe,  was  first  inspired  by  this  modest  scholar,  in 
pointing  out  the  wonders  of  the  earth  and  the  motions  of  the 
heavenly  bodies. 

Very  shortly  after  Tom  came  of  age  he  received  a  letter  froji 
Lady  Crewe,  his  coheir,  which  might  have  very  seriously  alarmed  a 
man  of  a  less  sanguine  and  hopeful  character.  What  Tom  believed 
he  held  as  matter  of  faith,  out  of  which  no  one  could  shake  him. 
Now  he  held,  as  clearly  as  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  of  the  Churclt 
(but  with  much  less  reason),  that  the  great  estates  he  inherited 
were  as  inexhaustible  as  the  mines  of  Potosi.  There  had  been,  it  is 
true,  and  he  knew  it,  three  successive  holders  of  the  property,  who 
all  spent,  every  year,  more  than  their  yearly  income.  Further,  he 
knew  that  Lord  Crewe  had  bought  in  a  rent-charge  of  £500  a  year. 
And  this  letter  ought  to  have  made  him  consider  his  position  very 
carefully ;  but  it  did  not. 

*My  dear  Nephew  and  Coheir,'  her  ladyship  wrote, — *It  is 
with  infinite  pain  that  I  hereby  inform  you  that  the  creditors  of  my 
late  brothers  have  taken  such  steps  as  will  result  in  our  estate  being 


THE  CHIEF  CREDITOR. 


51 


thrown  into  Chancery,  the  effect  of  which  cannot  but  be  disastrous 
to  us  both,  though,  in  the  long  run,  we  shall  perhaps  recover.  As 
regards  present  expenses,  we  shall  have  to  appoint  some  trustworthy- 
servant  as  steward  of  the  property  till  such  time  as  the  lawyers  have 
done  with  it  and  the  creditors  are  satisfied.  And  you  may  rest 
assured  of  my  care  that  your  income  shall  be  sufficient  for  you  to 
live  at  the  Manor  House,  though  not  in  the  state  which  my  brothers 
were  able  to  maintain.  You  will  have  fewer  horses  and  servants  ; 
you  will  not  be  able,  at  present,  to  bear  the  charges  of  a  seat  in 
Parliament ;  but  you  will  continue  (I  v/ill  take  care  therefor)  to 
live  on  your  estates,  and  in  yom-  own  house.  And,  should  I  remain  un- 
happily a  childless  wife,  you  will,  on  my  death,  succeed  to  my  moiety. 
Therefore,  my  dear  nephew,  bid  little  Dorothy  take  care  that  there 
be  no  waste  in  the  kitchen ;  buy  no  more  horses ;  make  no  bets  ; 
run  no  matches  ;  keep  my  late  brother's  cellar  for  days  of  company  ; 
provide  your  table  chiefly  by  your  gun ;  make  no  debts  ;  and  hope 
continually  that  the  years  of  lean  kine  will  be  but  few,  and  will 
soon  pass  away. 

'  Your  loving  Aunt, 

*  Dorothy  Crewe.' 

Tom  read  this  letter  slowly. 

Fewer  horses  !"  '  he  said.  *Why,  I  have  but  half  a  dozen  or 
so  as  it  is.  "Fewer  servants!"  Then  who  is  to  keep  the  poor 
varlets  if  I  send  them  adrift?  "Make  no  bets!"  Why,  my  lady, 
there  you  must  please  to  excuse  me,  for  a  gentleman  must  make 
bets.  "  Run  no  matches  !"  Well,  not  many.  What  does  she  mean 
by  "lean  kine"?' 

'  Her  ladyship  refers  to  the  dream  of  Pharaoh,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard. 

*  Then  I  wish  her  ladj^ship  would  talk  plain  English.    After  all, 

it  will  be  but  a  year  or  two,  and  then   Tony,  what  the  devil 

are  you  looking  so  glum  about  V 

'  Chancery,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  means  more  than  a  year  or  two. 
Lawyers  are  like  that  famous  vampire-bat,  said  to  exist  in  Hungary, 
which  seizes  on  a  creature,  and  never  lets  go  while  there  is  blood 
left.' 

,  It  is  wonderful  to  relate  that  Tom  never  took  the  least  trouble  to 
find  out  what  the  liabilities  were,  or  how  long  it  would  take  to  pay 
them  off.  Meanwhile,  there  was  no  change  in  his  manner  of  living, 
save  that  he  bought  no  more  horses,  hired  no  new  servants,  and 
restrained  himself  from  those  things  which  require  a  great  outlay 
of  money.  I  know  not  how  the  money  was  found  for  the  daily 
charges,  but  I  suppose  that  Lady  Crewe  could  tell,  for  the  estates 
were  really  thrown  into  Chancery,  where  they  remained  for  six 
years.  Mr.  Hilyard,  I  believe,  but  am  not  certain,  was  appointed 
steward.  Also  I  know  now  that,  one  after  the  other,  the  creditors 
weie  mostly  bought  up  by  Lord  Crewe. 

With  wings  thus  clipped,  supposed  to  be  the  owner  of  a  great 
estate,  of  which  he  could  enjoy  nothing,  Tom  could  not  take  the 


0,  OF  ILL  LIB. 


52 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


same  position  in  tlie  county  as  had  been  enjoyed  by  his  predecessors. 
Yet  there  was  always  the  generous  hospitality  of  the  north,  and  the 
great  cellar  of  wine  left  by  Mr.  Ferdinando  held  out  even  against 
Tom's  friends,  who  were  mostly  young,  and  all  of  them  gifted  with 
a  great  appetite  and  thirst ;  and  as  long  familiarity  with  danger 
makes  one  cease  to  believe  in  it  (as  a  sailor  puts  forth  to  meet  the 
perils  of  the  seas  without  a  thought  upon  them),  so  Tom  went  on, 
taking  no  heed  for  the  morrow,  as  if  the  broad  lands  of  Bamborough 
were  really  his  own,  as  they  had  been  Sir  William's.  Yet,  as  I 
grew  older,  and  could  understand  things  better,  I  learned  from  Mr. 
Hilyard  that  his  own  expectaacy  for  the  future  was  gloomy  indeed, 
for  all  of  us — for  Tom,  who  might  lose  the  greater  part  of  his 
estate ;  for  myself,  who  would  lose,  so  to  speak,  whatever  he  lost ; 
and  for  himself,  because  he  would  lose  employment  to  his  mind, 
and  a  patron  who  was  generous  in  his  way,  though  sometimes  quick 
with  his  tongue,  and  so  might  be  turned  again  upon  the  world  to 
seek  his  fortune  at  five  or  six  and  thirty  years  of  age,  when  a  man 
ought  to  be  settled  in  the  way  of  life  by  which  he  earns  his  bread. 

*I  doubt,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  whether,  when  all  is  done,  there 
will  remain  for  the  coheirs  enough  to  give  a  bare  living  to  his 
1  o  lOur.  All  will  go  to  Lord  Crewe,  who,  I  hear,  is  buying  up  the 
remaining  creditors.  We  know  not  what  may  be  the  intentions  of 
his  lordship,  but  he  is  growing  old,  and  may  die  ;  or  he  may  intend 
— but,  indeed,  we  know  not  what  he  may  intend,  except  that  it  is 
poor  work  for  a  Forster  of  Bamborough  to  look  to  any  man  for 
patronage  and  support.' 

Poor  work,  truly !  even  though  that  man  was  so  near  a  connec- 
tion as  my  lord ! 

Tom,  then,  took  no  thought  for  the  future,  believing  that  the 
estates  would  shortly  be  cleared  of  all  encumbrances,  and  his  inherit- 
ance become  all  his  own.  Nay,  when  letters  came  from  the  lawyers, 
written  in  the  language  or  jargon  employed  by  the  members  of  that 
profession  with  intent  to  darken  the  judgment  and  confuse  the  mind 
of  a  plain  person,  my  brother  tossed  them  over  to  Mr.  Hilyard, 
bidding  him  read  them  if  he  pleased,  but  not  to  vex  him  by  rehears- 
ing their  purport,  and  so,  with  a  whistle  to  his  dogs,  off  to  the  sport 
which  chiefly  occupied  his  mind.  Nor  would  he  hear  afterwards 
what  the  letters  conveyed  to  him,  though  Mr.  Hilyard  shook  his 
head  and  gi^oaned,  telling  me  privately  that  our  affairs  were  going 
from  bad  to  worse.  Like  master,  like  man  ;  he,  too,  when  the 
bottle  went  round,  shook  off  dull  care,  and  assumed  that  fool's-cap 
which  belongs  to  all  who  willingly  dwell  in  a  fool's  paradise. 

There  came  the  time,  however,  when  the  storm,  which  had  been 
gathering  so  long,  burst  upon  us  in  great  fury,  finding  one  at  least, 
and  that  the  man  most  concerned,  wholly  unprepared. 

It  was  one  day  in  the  early  autumn  of  the  year  1709,  and  in  the 
afternoon.  My  brother  was  sitting  at  the  open  window,  with  a 
packet  of  flies  in  his  hands  (they  were  made  for  him  by  Mr.  Hil- 
yard), but  half -asleep  and  nodding,  as  sometimes  happened  to  him 


THE  CHIEF  CREDITOR. 


53 


after  his  dinner  and  noonday  potations  of  strong  ale.  He  was  then 
twenty-seven  years  of  age.  Six  years  had  passed  since  he  came 
into  his  own,  which  was  now,  alas !  to  be  taken  from  him,  though 
he  had  never  really  enjoyed  more  than  the  shadow  and  reputation 
of  it.  Yet  they  were  six  years  of  fatness,  with  plenty  of  feasting, 
drinking,  hunting,  shooting,  and  fishing,  so  that  one  may  easily 
understand  that  Tom  looked  no  longer  the  gallant  and  handsome 
lad  who  received  the  congratulations  of  his  friends  when  he  reached 
his  twenty- first  year.  His  cheeks  were  fuller,  and  he  had  already 
something  of  a  double  chin.    Yet  a  comely  man  still. 

I  have  always  thought  it  a  great  happiness  that  Tom  was  in  no 
huny  to  be  married.  In  this  respect  he  resembled  many  others  of 
his  family.  His  uncles  John  and  Ferdinando,  for  instance,  never 
married  at  all,  nor  hath  his  brother  J ack  as  yet  taken  a  wife,  though 
he  is  now  (at  the  time  I  write)  far  advanced  towards  forty.  Had 
Tom  become  a  father  of  children,  this  and  later  troubles  might  have 
been  more  than  one  could  bear. 

Then  there  rode  up  to  the  door  the  post-boy,  mounted  on  his 
little  pony,  and  blowing  his  horn,  at  the  noise  of  which  Tom  started 
and  woke  up  ;  Mr.  Hilyard,  who  held  in  his  hand  a  book  in  Latin, 
laid  it  down  and  went  out,  and  I  put  aside  my  sewing  and  waited 
for  the  news.  We  were  less  astonished  than  most  at  the  arrival  of 
a  letter,  because  we  were  sometimes  privileged  to  read  Lady  Swin- 
burne's latest  London  News.  Now  it  may  seem  incredible,  but  it  is 
nevertheless  true,  and  I  have  experienced  the  same  thing  on  the 
occasion  of  other  misfortunes  as  great,  that  I  felt  quite  certain 
beforehand,  and  while  waiting  for  the  letter,  that  it  brought  bad 
news. 

'  Kead  it,  Tony,'  said  Tom,  giving  it  back.  *  It  is  from  her  lady- 
ship. Perhaps  it  is  to  say  that  all  is  now  off,  and  the  estate  is 
clear.' 

Mr.  Hilyard  opened  the  letter,  which  was  a  long  one,  with  great 
care,  drew  a  chair  to  the  window,  and  there  read  it. 

This  most  astonishing  epistle  fell  upon  us  all  like  a  thunderbolt 
in  our  midst,  as  one  of  the  Allies'  shells  at  Oudenarde.  Consider ; 
for  so  many  years  there  had  been  always  before  our  eyes  the 
prospect  of  a  time  when  the  estates  should  be  free — in  a  year  or 
two,  perhaps,  more  or  less  ;  what  mattered  ?  Sooner  or  later  Tom 
would  have  his  unencumbered  moiety,  and,  as  was  reasonable  to 
suppose,  at  my  lady's  death  the  whole. 

It  was  a  truly  dreadful  letter.  It  informed  us,  in  fact,  that  there 
was  nothing  left.  Law  and  the  creditors  had  swallowed  all.  A 
thing  impossible  to  believe,  and  yet  most  true.  There  was  nothing 
left.  My  aunt,  in  telling  us  this  draadful  thing,  talked  obscurely 
about  our  remaining  at  the  Manor  House,  with  hints  about  affairs 
of  importance  not  to  be  undertaken  without  communication  with 
her.  I  was,  for  my  own  part,  so  bewildered,  that  I  understood  but 
half  of  what  she  said. 

Now,  when  Mr.  Hilyard  read,  Tom,  who  fcegau  by  paying  little 


54 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


heed  first,  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  then  turned  white  and  then  red 
crying : 

*  Eead  that  again !  Eead  that  again  !'  And  when  the  letter 
ended  with  an  exhortation  to  resignation,  Tom  sank  into  his  chair, 
crying,  *  For  Lord's  sake,  Tony,  tell  me  without  her  ladyship's 
rigmarole — Death  and  Furies  !  what  have  I  to  do  with  resignation  ? 
— what  it  means.' 

'  It  means,  sir,'  Mr.  Hilyard  replied,  *  briefly  this  :  The  Bam- 
borough  estates  have  been  all,  by  order  of  the  Lord  Chancellor,  sold 
for  the  benefit  of  the  creditors.  Lord  Crewe  hath  bought  the  whole 
for  the  sum  of  £20,000,  and  the  amount  due  to  her  ladyship  and 
yourself,  the  lawyers  and  creditors  having  been  paid,  and  the  rent- 
charges  provided  for,  is  not  more  than  £1,020,  of  which  you,  who 
take  the  moiety,  will  receive  £510  exactly.' 

Then  there  was  silence,  during  which  we  looked  anxiously  at 
Tom,  whose  face  was  swollen,  and  so  red  that  I  feared  he  would 
have  a  fit  of  some  kind. 

'  So  all  is  gone,'  he  said,  at  length.  *  A  goodly  inheritance, 
indeed  !    Five  hundred  pounds  !' 

*  Your  honour  forgets,'  replied  Mr.  Hilyard,  ^  that  you  are  still  the 
heir  of  Etherston.  As  to  the  land  of  the  Bamborough  Forsters, 
that  seems  to  have  taken  unto  itself  wings.  11  one  cannot  trust  in 
land,  in  what  shall  man  place  his  trust  ?' 

'  I  am  the  heir  of  Etherston — that  is  true.  But  my  father's  estate 
can  do  little  more  than  keep  himself  and  his  family.  Shall  I  have 
to  go  back  to  him  and  live  upon  his  bounty  ?'  To  this,  being  greatly 
moved  and  beyond  himself,  he  added  many  strong  words  and  oaths, 
which  may  be  passed  over. 

*Not  so,  sir,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard.  ^With  submission,  if  you  go 
back.  Miss  Dorothy  will  go  with  you  ;  and  I  must  needs  go  back 
into  the  world,  naked  as  I  came  into  it  at  my  birth.  Therefore,  I 
trust  this  Avill  not  happen.  As  for  this  house  and  all  these  lands, 
they  are  indeed  the  property  of  the  Lord  Bishop  ;  but  there  seems 
a  way — nay,  her  ladyship  herself  indicates  a  way.  You  will  remain 
here — as  her  nephew.' 

*  A  fine  way,  truly !  I  am  to  be  a  beggar — a  pensioner — a 
dependent  upon  my  aunt.' 

*  Nay  ;  the  eldest  son  of  Mr.  Thomas,  and  the  grandson  of  Sir 
William  Forster,  must  not  be  called  by  anyone  a  beggar,  or  a  pauper, 
or  a  dependent,  even  though  his  aunt,  who  is  wealthy,  provide  the 
expenses  of  his  establishment.  Her  ladyship  clearly  signifies  her 
desire  that  you  should  continue  as  if  this  purchase  had  not  been 
made,  and  that  you  should  live  in  the  same  style  as  at  present, 
which  is  not,  I  am  aware,  the  style  befitting  Mr.  Ferdinando's  suc- 
cessor, or  equal  to  the  splendour  of  his  state  :  but  yet  it  is  the  style 
and  manner  of  a  gentleman,  and  equal  to  that  of  your  honour's 
father  ;  and  she  further  clearly  specifies  her  intention,  if  I  read  her 
aright,  that  out  of  the  revenues  of  the  estates  such  a  sum  shall  be 
reserved  for  your  use  as  may  be  found  necessary.' 


THE  CHIEF  CREDITOR. 


55 


*  Yes — bnt  on  conditions. 

*Witli  submission,  sir,  again  :  on  reasonable  conditions.  She 
desires  only  that  no  important  step  be  taken  by  you  without  her 
consent.  That  is  to  say,  and,  by  way  of  illustration,  when  you 
desire  to  marry,  you  would  signif  y  your  intention  to  her  ladyship. 
That  is  what  you  would  naturally  do  towards  your  lamented  mother's 
sister.' 

'  Tilly  vally,  Tony,  that  is  not  what  her  ladyship  means.  You 
know  very  well  what  she  does  mean.' 

'  Then,  sir,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  apparently  without  attention  to 
this  interruption,  '  there  is  also  the  danger  which  threatens  the 
whole  country,  and  especially  the  north.  Her  ladyship,  knowing 
your  honour's  courage,  loyalty,  and  daring,  is  right  in  fearing  that 
you  might  be  led  into  some  rash  enterprise,  like  the  late  Sir  J ohn 
Fenwick,  in  which  you  might  lose  not  only  your  head  but  also  your 
estates.  This  danger,  sir,  I  for  one,  if  I  may  venture  to  say  so, 
have  felt  especially  of  late  to  be  very  great.  Consider,  that  you 
are  acknowledged  by  all  to  be  by  birth  and  position,  as  well  as  by 
abilities,  foremost  among  the  Protestant  gentlemen  of  the  north.' 

*  That  may  be  so,  Tony,'  said  Tom,  softening.  ^  I  do  not  say  that 
thou  art  wrong.' 

*  A  natural  leader  of  the  Cause,  and  of  great  daring.' 

*  It  is  true,'  said  Tom,  wagging  his  head. 

*  Round  whom  the  people  will  rally.' 

'  If  not,'  said  Tom,  sitting  down,  '  I  should  like  to  know  round 
whom  they  loill  rally.' 

*  Next,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  it  is  very  well  known  that  there  hath 
been  of  late  a  great  increase  of  agitation  in  the  counties  and  in  the 
towns.  Private  advices  reach  us  from  London  of  the  clubs,  of  the 
enthusiasm  for  Dr.  Sacheverell,  and  the  loyalty  even  of  the  mob. 
Her  ladyship  desires,  naturally,  that  when  you  take  that  step,  which 
will  go  far  to  decide  the  victory  of  the  Cause  she  hath  at  heart  ' 

^  It  will,'  cried  Tom.    '  It  must.' 

*  She  shall  know  beforehand,  if  only — but  this  I  guess — in  order 
that  you  may  be  enabled  to  make  a  fitting  appearance  in  the  field. 
A  Forster  may  not  be  as  magnificent  as  the  Duke  of  Ormond,  but 
he  must  be  suitably  equipped  and  follov/ed.' 

*  Why,'  said  Tom,  '  if  that  is  all  her  ladyship  means  ' 

'  What  more,  sir,  may  I  ask,  can  she  mean  ?  As  your  honour's 
aunt,  she  is  anxious  for  your  safety  ;  as  a  woman,  she  reveres  the 
head  of  her  branch  ;  also,  as  a  woman,  saving  Miss  Dorothy's 
presence,  having  the  power  of  the  purse,  she  desires  to  keep  it.  As 
for  what  she  intends,  that  is  to  me  very  certain.  She  hath  been 
married  more  than  ten  years,  and  hath  no  children  ;  she  is  already 
over  forty  ;  her  husband  is  past  seventy-five  years  of  age,  and  will 
leave  to  his  widow  all  he  can,  if  he  does  not  leave  to  her  all  he  has ; 
her  ladyship's  devotion  to  her  own  family  is  well  known.  To  whom 
should  she  bequeath  her  wealth,  save  to  your  honour  ?' 

*  True,'  said  Tom,  '  it  is  natural.    My  lord  is  very  rich.' 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


'You  will  therefore  become,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  before  many 
years,  the  richest  gentleman  in  the  north.' 

'  I  shall  then  rebuild  the  castle,  and  live  within  its  walls,'  said 
Tom. 

*  You  will  certainly  be  able  to  do  this,  and  to  revive  the  old  state 
of  your  ancestors,  Sir  John  and  Sir  Claudius.' 

'  I  shall  also  restore  the  ancient  Tower  of  Blanchland,  and  make 
a  noble  residence  of  it.' 

'  Sir,  the  idea  is  worthy  of  the  great  position  you  will  then  hold. 

'  As  for  you,  Tony,  I  have  made  up  my  mind.  You  shall  take 
Holy  Orders  and  become  my  chaplain,  with  two  hundred  pounds  a 
year.' 

'  Your  honour  is  indeed  generous.' 

*  I  shall  also  go  into  the  House.  By  that  time  the  Prince  will 
have  his  throne.  He  will  reward  those  who  have  been  faithful  to 
him.' 

'  An  earldom  at  least,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard. 

'  At  least,'  said  Tom,  kindling.  '  The  Earl  of  Blanchland,  eh  ?  It 
would  be  as  fine  as  the  Earl  of  Derwentwater.' 

'  Even  at  present,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  your  honour  may  marry  in 
any  family  you  choose,  being  of  so  old  and  honom^able  a  house.  But 
then — with  Lord  Crewe's  inheritance  and  the  Sovereign's  favour — 
of  course  you  will  be  sworn  of  the  Privy  Council  ' 

*  Of  course,'  answered  Tom  proudly. 

*  Earl  of  Blanchland,  of  his  Majesty's  Privy  Council  ;  Knight  of 
the  Garter — I  think,  my  lord — I  mean,  your  honour — we  may  say 
Knight  of  the  Garter  ' 

'  You  may,'  said  Tom,  laying  his  fingers  round  his  leg  ;  *  you 
may,  sir.' 

'  Lord  Lieutenant  and  High  Sheriff  of  Northumberland  ;  Here- 
ditary Grand  Warden  of  the  March  (an  honour  only  to  be  asked 
for)  ;  Governor  of  the  Castle  of  Bamborough  ;  Lord  of  the  Manor 
of  Etherston  ' 

*  I  give  that,'  said  Tom,  *  to  my  brother  Jack.    It  is  not  worth 
keeping.' 

'  With  all  these  distinctions,  is  there  an  heiress  or  a  lady  in  all 
England  but  would  rejoice  at  such  an  alliance  ?' 

'  Gad  !'  said  Tom,  '  you  put  things  as  they  should  be  put.  Tony, 
your  salary  as  my  chaplain  shall  be  four  hundred,  not  two.    You  « 
shall  be  a  king  among  chaplains  !    But  when  you  have  the  cassock 
and  the  bands,  you  will  not  cease  from  drinking  and  singing,  will  you  ?' 

'  Sir,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  I  shall  be  like  unto  Friar  John  des 
Entommeurs.    In  the  gown  I  shall  only  drink  the  deeper.' 

With  such  persuasion  and  artful  show  of  hope  did  Mr.  Hilyard 
soothe  the  disappointment  of  this  dreadful  blow,  so  that  poor  Tom, 
although  without  a  penny  (save  his  five  hundred  pounds),  and  de- 
pendent wholly  upon  the  bounty  of  my  aunt,  felt  himself  in  imagina- 
tion exalted  to  the  highest  rank,  and  possessing  all  those  distinctions 
which  are  most  coveted. 


THE  CHIEF  CREDITOR. 


57 


*  Write  to  her  ladyship,  my  good  friend,'  he  said,  with  the  majesty 
of  an  Earl  in  his  manner  ;  '  tell  her  in  suitable  terms  that  I  agree 
to  her  proposals.  Bring  me  the  draft  of  the  letter,  and  I  will  write 
it  in  my  own  hand,  after  I  have  corrected  it.  Yon  can  tell  Jack, 
Dorothy,  that  I  shall  give  him  Etherston  when  the  time  comes.' 

Alas  !  Jack  has  got  Etherston,  and  has  held  it  now  for  fourteen 
years.    But  what  did  poor  Tom  get  ? 

Then — the  kind  brother — he  thought  upon  his  sister. 

*  What  shall  I  give  thee,  Dorothy  ?'  he  asked.  ^  Truly,  if  it  de- 
pended upon  me,  thou  shouldst  have  the  finest  husband  in  the 
world,  and  the  richest  dower.' 

So  he  kissed  me  on  the  forehead,  and  left  us. 

*  Man,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  is  ever  allured  by  the  things  which  are 
of  least  use  to  him.  Who  would  be  Earl  and  Knight  of  the  Garter, 
and  bear  the  weight  and  fardel  of  greatness  ?  Who  would  not 
rather  be  a  plain  country  gentleman,  with  an  estate  in  land,  a  troop 
of  friends,  and  a  goodly  cellar  ?  His  honour  hath  lost  his  whole 
substance.  He  hath  remaining  not  one  acre  of  land  nor  one  shilling 
of  revenue  ;  yet  is  he  happy,  because  he  will  now  have  continually 
before  his  eyes  the  inheritance  of  Lord  Crewe.' 

*  But  you  think  ' 

*  Nay,  I  am  sure.  I  have  deceived  him  in  nought,  except  in  this. 
Her  ladyship  is,  it  is  true,  forty  years  of  age,  but  she  may  very  well 
live  as  long  as  her  nephew.  But  to  tell  him  this  in  his  present 
mood  would  be  the  same  as  to  kick  over  the  basket  of  eggs  out  of 
which  this  mighty  fortune  was  to  be  made.  I  have  also  hidden 
another  thing,  which  I  confess  with  shame.  I  am  informed  that 
Lord  Derwentwater  will  certainly  return  early  in  the  year.  He  is 
young  and  ardent  ;  he  will  gather  round  him,  no  doubt,  all  the  hot- 
brains and  hair-brains  of  the  county.  Lady  Crewe  knows  this, 
because  she  knows  all.  Who  can  tell  what  may  happen  ?  Is  she 
not  right  to  ensure  that  her  nephew,  if  he  risk  his  neck,  shall  risk 
nothing  else  ?' 

CHAPTER  YIL 

ROOM  FOR  MY  LORD. 

Tt  was  in  the  year  of  grace  seventeen  hundred  and  ten  that  Lord 
Derwentwater,  who  had  been  living  abroad  from  childhood,  returned 
to  his  native  country.  He  was  then  in  his  twenty- first  year,  having 
been  born  on  the  28th  of  June,  1689,  being  a  year  younger  than  the 
Prince,  his  cousin,  whose  education  he  shared  and  whose  playfellow 
he  was.  To  one  of  those  who  welcomed  him  back — a  woman — it 
will  always  seem  as  if  her  life  had  something  of  meanness  in  it  before 
he  came.  Until  then,  she  knew  not  what  was  meant  by  the  man- 
ners and  airs  which  are  learned  only  at  such  Courts  as  those  of 
Versailles  and  St.  James's  ;  nor  did  she  know  before  how  splendid 
a  being  is  a  man  who,  besides  being  master  of  all  the  manly  accom- 


58 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


plishments,  as  most  of  the  Northumberland  gentlemen  are,  also 
possesses  the  language  of  gallantry,  the  manners  of  a  courtier,  and 
the  youth  and  beauty  of  Apollo.  I  can  but  own — why  should  I  be 
ashamed  to  own  it  ? — that  the  admiration  which  I  felt  for  my  lord 
at  the  very  first  appearance  and  beholding  of  him,  only  increased 
the  of  tener  I  saw  him  and  the  more  I  conversed  with  him.  Sure  I 
am  that  Heaven  hath  nowhere  bestowed  upon  this  generation  so 
goodly  and  virtuous  a  nobleman.  Yet  was  he  granted  to  us  to 
gladden  our  hearts  and  set  us  an  example  of  benevolence,  courtesy, 
majesty,  and  good  breeding  for  five  short  years.  Thus  are  the 
greatest  blessings  granted  to  mankind  (if  I  may  be  permitted  so  to 
speak  of  the  Heavenly  Scheme)  with  sparing  and  jealous  hands. 

It  was  by  way  of  the  Low  Countries  that  the  Earl  returned  to 
England,  because  the  Long  War,  although  it  was  drawing  to  a  close, 
was  still  raging.  Indeed,  it  was  but  a  short  while  since  the  famous 
battle  of  Malplaquet,  where  the  vanquished  suffered  not  half  so 
much  loss  as  the  victors,  and  our  valiant  Prince  charged  twelve 
times  with  the  French  regiment  of  Household  Troops.  Lord  Der- 
wentwater  was  accompanied  only  by  his  two  brothers,  Francis  and 
Charles,  the  latter  of  whom  was  but  a  lad  of  sixteen,  and  his  gentle- 
man, Mr.  Welby  (afterwards  hanged  at  Liverpool).  He  was  met 
in  London  by  his  uncle.  Colonel  Thomas  Badcliffe,  and  his  cousin, 
Mr.  Fenwick  of  Bywell  (a  near  relation  of  the  unhappy  man  who 
slew  Mr.  Ferdinando).  As  for  the  Colonel,  who  lived  for  the  most 
part  at  Radcliffe  House,  in  Newcastle,  he  was  a  most  worthy  and 
honourable  gentleman,  but  subject  to  a  strange  infirmity.  For  he 
imagined  that  he  was  being  constantly  pursued  by  an  enemy  armed 
with  a  sword,  so  that  when  he  walked  abroad  he  constantly  looked 
behind  him,  and  when  he  sat  at  table  he  would  suddenly  spring  to 
his  feet  and  lay  hand  upon  his  sword  ;  and  at  night  he  would  leap 
from  his  bed,  try  the  locks  and  bars  of  his  door,  and  throw  open 
the  window.  For  this  reason  he  went  to  Newcastle  by  water,  a 
method  of  travelling  which  gave  him  the  greatest  content,  because 
on  board  ship  he  fancied  himself  safe  except  from  pirates.  It  was 
resolved  that,  though  no  secret  should  be  made  as  to  the  Earl's 
arrival,  there  should  be  no  stay  in  London,  to  avoid  the  danger  of 
his  being  drawn  into  some  rash  design  or  engagement.  For  it  was 
his  friends'  anxious  desire  that  while  it  should  be  very  well  under- 
stood that  he  was  the  faithful  and  loyal  supporter  of  the  Prince,  he 
was  to  have  no  hand  in  any  plots,  and  was  not  to  move  until  success 
was  assured. 

They  were  joined  in  London  also  by  Mr.  Henry  Howard,  a  Catholic 
priest,  and  cousin  to  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  (would  that  all  priests 
were  like  unto  this  venerable  and  godly  man  !).  And  though  they 
rode  straight  north,  they  made  not  so  much  haste  but  that  news  of 
their  arrival  reached  the  north  before  they  got  as  far  as  York  ;  and 
it  was  resolved  by  many  of  the  gentlemen,  especially  his  cousins,  to 
give  him  welcome  at  Dilston  Hall.  As  for  us,  we  were  doubly  his 
cousins,  both  by  oui'  ancestor,  Sir  John,  who  manied  Jane  Had- 


ROOM  FOR  MY  LORD. 


59 


cliffe,  widow  of  Lord  Ogle,  and  his  son,  Nicolas,  who  married 
another  Jane  Eadcliffe,  heiress  of  Blanchland. 

'  Who  should  go  to  welcome  him  if  not  I,  his  cousin  and  near 
neighbour  ?'  said  Tom.  (He  was  now  become  quite  easy  in  his 
mind  as  regards  his  own  cii'cumstances,  and  secure  of  the  brilliant 
succession  with  which  Mr.  Hilyard  had  inflamed  his  miL.d.)  '  And, 
if  I  go,  why  not  you  as  well,  Dorothy  ?' 

You  may  judge  of  the  joy  with  which  I  heard  these  words.  But 
it  was  a  great  undertaking,  and  needed  much  consideration,  which 
we  entrusted  to  Mr.  Hilyard.  He  finally  resolved  for  us  that  we 
should  go,  and  that  we  should  seize  the  occasion  to  spend  the  whole 
year  at  Blanchland,  where  we  might,  at  least,  live  retired,  and  at 
small  charge,  the  place  being  eight  or  nine  miles  from  any  neighbours, 
and  in  the  middle  of  a  wild  moor.  I  think — nay,  I  am  quite  sure — 
that  Mr.  Hilyard's  desire  that  Tom  should  spend  no  money  was 
greater  than  his  wish  to  greet  the  Earl,  for,  though  he  complained 
not,  it  fell  to  his  lot  to  ask  her  ladyship  for  supplies,  and  to  receive 
the  rebukes  for  prodigality  with  which  she  sometimes  answered  his 
letters. 

My  heart  was  light  at  the  prospect  of  so  great  a  journey  and  the 
sight  of  strange  places,  to  say  nothing  of  giving  a  welcome  to  the 
young  lord.  I  cared  nothing  for  the  cold  wind  of  February,  and 
the  driving  sleet  and  snow  in  which  we  began  our  journey.  To  me, 
though  the  snow  lay  in  piles  about  the  brambles  and  the  bushes,  and 
the  wind  blew  from  the  north-east,  and  one's  fingers  froze,  and  one's 
feet  in  the  saddle  lost  all  feeling,  the  journey  was  delightful.  We 
were  a  great  party,  having  with  us  a  whole  troop  of  pack-horses 
laden  with  guns,  fishing-tackle,  clothes,  and  so  forth.  There  were 
also  Tom's  dogs  and  hounds,  his  second  riding-horse,  his  grooms,  his 
own  man  (who  shaved  him,  dressed  his  wig,  and  kept  his  clothes), 
Mr.  Hilyard,  and  my  maid,  Jenny  Lee.  So  that  we  were  like  a 
small  army,  and  made,  in  fact,  almost  as  little  progress  as  an  army 
in  motion.  The  first  night  we  lay  at  our  own  house  (but  it  was 
now  Lord  Crewe's)  at  Alnwick  ;  the  second  we  lay  at  Rothbury,  a 
pleasant  town  on  the  Coquet  ;  on  the  third  at  Capheaton  Castle, 
where  we  were  hospitably  entertained,  though  Sir  William  had 
already  gone  two  days  before  to  Dilstonwith  her  ladyship.  On  the 
f  om'th  we  rode  into  Hexham. 

In  this  ancient  town,  which  I  now  saw  for  the  first  time,  we 
found  gathered  together  a  goodly  company  of  gentlemen,  assembled 
for  the  purpose  of  giving  the  Earl  a  hearty  welcome  home.  The 
street  was  full  of  them  and  of  their  servants.  They  stood  about 
the  doors  of  the  inns  ;  they  drank  and  sang  in  little  companies.  A 
group  of  the  better  sort  were  gathered  in  the  open  square  between 
the  church  and  the  old  town,  where  they  talked  and  welcomed  new- 
comers. Lord  Widdrington,  with  his  brothers,  was  reported  to  be 
at  Beauf ront  with  Mr.  Errington  ;  Sir  William  and  Lady  Swin- 
burne, with  half-a-dozen  of  the  Swinburne  brothers,  the  Ladies 
Katharine  and  Mary  Radcliffe,  and  many  other  cousins,  were  ai 


6o 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


Dilston  Hall.    In  Hexham  there  were  Shaf  toes,  Olaverings,  Chor-i 

leys,  Gibsons,  and  many  more.  Mad  Jack  Hall  was  among  them^ 
shonting  and  vapouring.  High  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  towered 
the  great  form  of  Frank  Stokoe,  six  inches  taller  than  any  other 
man  in  Northumberland.  He  was  not  only  the  tallest,  but  also  the 
strongest,  man  in  the  county.  He  could  crush  pewter  pots  in  his 
hand  ;  he  could  pull  against  two  horses,  lift  a  couple  of  hundred- 
weight with  his  little  finger,  stop  a  cart  against  a  runaway  horse, 
bend  iron  bars  across  his  arm,  and  break  pence  with  his  fingers. 
Once  he  lifted  a  constable  asleep,  box  and  all,  and  dropped  him 
over  the  wall  into  a  burying-place.  He  lived  at  Chesterwood,  near 
Hay  don  Bridge,  and  not  far  from  Lord  Derw  cutwater's  Castle  of 
Langley,  which  lies  in  ruins  these  three  hundred  years,  and  is  like. 
Heaven  knows,  to  continue  in  that  same  evil  plight  for  as  many 
more.  Also  there  were  present  certain  gentlemen — birds  of  ill 
omen,  Mr.  Hilyard  called  them,  always  imploring  his  patron  to  keep 
aloof  from  them,  hold  no  communication  with  them,  and  not  suffer 
himself  to  be  enticed  into  correspondence  with  them.  These  are 
the  men  who  ensnare  honest  and  loyal  gentlemen  by  making  them 
combine,  without  their  knowledge,  in  conspiracies  and  plots  destined 
only  to  failure.  Each  premature  plot,  when  detected  and  put  down, 
costs  the  lives  of  some  of  these  mischievous  men  ;  but  the  devil 
speedily  raises  up  others  to  do  his  work,  lest  the  wickedness  of  the 
world  should  go  less. 

Now,  as  we  rode  into  the  crowd,  some  of  the  gentlemen  shook 
hands  with  Tom  ;  and  others  greeted  me  with  such  compliments  as 
they  knew  how  to  make  (they  were  kindly  meant  ;  but  I  was  soon 
to  iearn  the  true  language  of  gallantry)  ;  and  others  shouted  a 
welcome  to  lusty  Tony  (it  is  a  shame  that  so  great  a  scholar  should 
consent  to  such  a  name),  whose  appearance  and  shining  countenance 
promised  an  evening  of  merriment.  Presently,  looking  about  among 
the  throng,  I  became  aware  of  a  person  whom  I  had  never  before 
«;een,  in  cassock  and  bands,  and  the  most  enormous  great  wig  I  had 
ever  seen,  reminding  one  of  the  lines  • 

*  His  wig  was  so  bushy,  so  long,  and  so  fair, 
The  best  part  of  man  was  quite  covered  with  hair  ; 
That  he  looked,  as  a  body  may  modestly  speak  it, 
Like  a  calf  with  bald  face  peeping  out  of  a  thicket.* 

His  eyes  were  close  together,  which,  I  suppose,  was  the  cause  of  his 
looking  shifty  and  sly — pigs  have  such  eyes  ;  his  nose,  like  his 
cheeks,  was  fat  ;  and  his  lips  were  thick  and  full.  Unless  his  face 
belied  him,  he  was  one  of  those  who  loved  the  sacred  profession  for 
the  life  of  ease  and  the  fat  eating  which  may  be  procured  by  the 
fortunate  and  the  swinish.  Miserable  man  !  Yet  still  he  lives  and 
still  he  preaches,  his  conscience  being  seared  with  a  hot  iron. 
Thank  Heaven !  he  is  not  an  enemy  of  myself,  but  of  my  brother  ; 
therefore,  I  am  not  called  upon  to  forgive  him.  Indeed,  it  is  only 
a  Christian's  duty  to  regard  such  as  him  with  abhorrence,  as  one 
abhors  the  devil  and  all  his  works. 


ROOM  FOR  MY  LORD, 


6i 


He  was  going  about  with  an  appearance  of  great  bustle  and 
business,  as  if  everything  depended  upon  himself,  whispering  to 
one  man,  holding  another  earnestly  by  the  button,  taking  a  pinch 
of  snuff  from  another  with  an  air  of  haste.  Presently  he  advanced 
to  us,  bowing  at  every  step. 

'  Sir,'  he  said  to  Tom,  *  I  venture  to  present  myself  to  your 
honour.  I  am  the  Yicar  of  Allenhead,  your  worship's  nearest 
neighbour  when  you  honour  Blanchland  with  a  visit  ;  and  I  venture 
to  call  myself  one  of  the  right  party.  Sir,  I  rejoice  to  find  that 
you  are  here  with  so  many  noble  gentlemen  to  welcome  my  Lord  of 
Derwent water.  As  for  me,  my  motto  is,  and  still  will  be,  "  The 
right  of  the  firstborn  is  his  ;"  and,  if  it  need  more  words,  Take 
away  the  wicked  from  before  the  king."  My  name,  sir,  at  your 
service,  is  Robert  Patten,  Artium  Magister,  and  formerly  of  Lincoln 
College,  Oxford,  and — O  Lord  !  ' 

For  he  started  back  as  one  who  has  trodden  upon  an  adder  at 
least,  and  with  a  face  suddenly  pale  with  fright  or  astonishment,  I 
know  not  which.  Then  I  perceived  that  the  cause  of  his  alarm 
was  none  other  than  the  sight  of  Mr.  Hilyard.  He,  for  his  part, 
was  looking  down  upon  his  reverence  from  his  horse  with  a  face  as 
full  of  disdain  and  indignation  as  you  can  expect  from  a  countenance 
naturally  inclined  for  charity  with  all  men.  Mr.  Hilyard  could 
change  his  face  at  will  when  he  wished  to  personate  the  sterner 
emotions  in  acting  and  make-believe,  but,  which  is  a  truly  wonderful 
thing,  when  he  was  in  earnest,  and  actually  felt  those  passions  of 
scorn  or  wrath,  his  face  failed  to  convey  them. 

'  If,'  he  said  presently,  '  the  Prince's  cause  hath  pleased  Bob 
Patten,  we  have  got  a  brave  recruit  indeed,  and  are  finely  sped.' 

At  which  the  other  plucked  up  courage,  and,  setting  his  band 
straight,  replied  : 

*  I  know  not,  Mr.  Hilyard,  what  may  be  your  present  business  in 
the  north.  I  pray  it  be  honest.  Nay,  sir,'  shrinking  and  putting 
up  his  hand,  for  Mr.  Hilyard  made  as  if  he  would  strike  at  him 
with  his  whip — '  nay,  sir,  remember  the  cloth  !  Besides,  I  meant 
no  harm.  Respect  the  cloth,  I  pray  you,  sir !  Indeed,  I  am  sure 
from  your  company  that  it  must  be  honest  at  least,  and  I  hope 
respectable.    Wherefore,  all  that  passed  in  Oxford  may  be  forgiven.' 

^Forgiven!'  cried  Mr.  Hilyard,  in  a  great  heat,  *how  dare  you 
talk  of  forgiving  ?  As  for  all  that  passed  at  Oxford,  proclaim  it 
aloud  an  you  will  ;  I  have  no  call  to  be  ashamed  of  it.  But  if  you 
speak  of  forgiving,  by  the  Lord  I  shall  forget  your  sacred  profes- 
sion, and  remember  only  what  you  were  !' 

*  Gentlemen,'  said  Tom,  speaking  with  authority,  *  let  us  have  no 
quarrels  to-day.  Command  me,  Mr.  Patten,  if  I  can  serve  you  in 
any  way.  Meanwhile,  there  will  be  a  bowl  of  punch  towards  nine, 
if  your  cloth  permits.' 

'  Oh,  sir !'  replied  Mr.  Patten,  bowing,  and  spreading  his  hands. 
Ah  !  crocodile !  as  if  thy  cloth  was  ever  guard  against  punch,  or 
any  other  temptation  t 


62 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


Now  that  evening  was  spent  in  festivity,  with  singing  and  drink- 
ing, at  which  none  of  the  gentlemen  remained  sober  except  Mr. 
Hilyard,  who  helped  to  carry  his  patron  to  bed,  and  did  him  the 
kindly  office  of  loosening  his  cravat,  adjusting  his  pillows,  and 
pulling  off  his  shoes.  I  know  not  if  the  gentlemen  of  the  north  be 
more  prone  to  drink  than  those  of  the  south,  perhaps  not  ;  in 
either  case  there  was  the  excuse  for  these  hearty  topers  that  on 
the  next  day  they  were  to  welcome  home  the  noblest  man  of  them 
all.  And  as  for  Mr.  Patten,  he  slept  where  he  fell.  As  for  me,  I 
went  to  bed  betimes,  but  not  to  sleep,  for  the  streets  were  full  of 
men  who  went  up  and  down— they  were  the  servants  and  grooms, 
and  were  as  loyal  and  as  tipsy  as  their  masters.  And  when  I  fell 
asleep  at  last,  it  was  to  unquiet  dreams,  in  which  I  was  haunted  by 
hoarse  voices  singing  loyal  songs. 

The  morning  of  the  day  when  I  was  first  to  see  Lord  Derwent- 
water  broke  cold  and  rainy.  But  as  the  day  advanced  the  clouds 
blew  over,  and  we  had  that  rare  thing  in  February,  a  bright,  cloud- 
less, and  sunny  day.  What  mattered  a  cold  and  a  sharp  wind  ? 
Northumberland,  the  brave  old  county,  would  show  at  her  best, 
despite  the  winter  season.  Often  I  think  that  winter  hath  charms 
of  its  own,  especially  in  the  woods,  though  the  poets  have  resolved 
on  singing  the  praise  of  spring  and  summer.  It  is  true  that  there 
are  no  flowers  and  few  birds  ;  yet  when  the  dead  leaves  hang,  that 
is,  where  the  trees  stand  thick,  there  are  all  kinds  of  pleasant 
colours.  One  who  had  travelled  much  in  America  once  assured 
Mr.  Hilyard  that  in  the  autumn  and  early  winter  the  forests  are  all 
ablaze  with  crimson,  yellow,  and  red  leaves  of  the  maple  tree  (from 
which  also  he  pretends  that  they  make  sugar,  but  one  may  not 
believe  all  travellers'  tales).  There  are  places  in  Northumberland, 
and  especially  in  the  hanging  woods  beside  the  Tyne,  where  this 
beauty  of  winter  leaves  may  also  be  observed.  Methinks  it  is  also 
a  beautiful  thing  to  watch  the  snow  upon  the  branches,  each  one 
seeming  like  a  stick  of  ice,  and  all  together  showing  like  the  finest 
lace  of  Valenciennes.  The  contemplation  of  things  beautiful  fills 
the  heart  with  joy,  and  raises  the  mind  to  heaven  ;  but  we  simple 
women  are  slow  and  imperfect  of  speech  ;  it  needs  such  a  poet  as 
Milton  (whom  most  of  all  I  love,  now  that  youth  and  joy  are  past) 
to  put  into  words  the  meaning  of  our  thoughts.  However,  I  was 
glad  and  thankful  that  such  a  day  had  been  vouchsafed  for  my 
lord's  return,  nothing  doubting  but  that  his  heart,  too,  would  be 
uplifted  on  seeing  his  own  woods  and  towers  lying  in  the  light  of 
such  a  sun  and  such  a  clear  blue  sky. 

We  observed  no  order  or  time  in  setting  forth.  Some  of  the 
younger  gentlemen  mounted  after  breakfast  and  rode  off  along  the 
road  to  Newcastle,  intending  to  meet  my  lord's  party  early  ;  others 
went  off  leisurely,  proposing  to  halt  at  Dilston,  two  miles  or  so 
from  Hexham.  V/ e,  for  our  part,  waited  till  after  dinner,  judging 
that  the  Earl  would  not  arrive  before  three  o'clock  at  earliest. 


ROOM  FOR  MY  LORD. 


63 


Mr.  Patten,  whom  I  disliked  from  the  first,  perhaps  because  Mr. 
Hilyard  regarded  him  with  so  much  aversion,  rode  with  us.  That 
is  to  say,  he  rode  beside  Mr.  Hilyard  and  behind  us,  but  as  if  he 
belonged  to  our  party.  This  is  the  way  with  those  who  desire  to 
increase  their  own  importance  ;  they  pretend  to  friendship  with 
one  man  in  order  to  obtain  the  patronage  of  another.  By  riding 
with  Mr.  Forster,  the  man  Patten  gave  himself  an  excuse  for 
welcoming  a  nobleman  with  whom  he  had  no  manner  of  concern  or 
business. 

When  we  had  ridden  past  the  bridge  at  Dilston,  where  there  was 
a  great  concourse  of  people  waiting,  we  left  Mr.  Patten  behind,  but 
we  were  joined  by  old  Mr.  Errington,  of  Beaufront,  a  wise  and 
prudent  gentleman,  whose  counsels  ought  to  have  guided  'the  party 
five  years  later,  but  he  was  overruled.  We  naturally  talked  of  the 
young  Earl. 

'  I  am  very  sure,  Tom,'  said  Mr.  Errington,  '  that  we  have  in  my 
lord  a  pillar  of  strength.  He  will  be  to  the  loyal  gentlemen  of  the 
north  as  much  as  the  Duke  of  Argyll  to  the  Whigs  of  Scotland.  I 
have  it  on  the  best  authority  that,  although  brought  up  in  France, 
he  is  an  Englishman  ;  though  a  Catholic,  like  myself,  he  is  as 
zealous  for  liberty  as  you  can  be  ;  an  adherent  of  the  Prince,  yet 
one  who  desires  not  violence,  but  rather  the  return  of  the  nation  to 
common-sense  and  loyalty  ;  one  who  will  conciliate  and  bind  all  of 
us  together,  so  that  we  shall  become  a  solid  party,  and  in  the  end 
triumph  even  in  the  House  of  Commons.' 

This,  in  the  year  1710,  was  the  earnest  prayer  of  all  moderate 
men  and  those  who  had  much  to  lose. 

'  With  submission,  sir,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  I  would  ask  what 
advices  your  honour  hath  received  respecting  the  temper  of  London  ?' 

'  Nothing,  Mr.  Hilyard,  but  what  is  good.  The  Queen  is  well 
disposed  towards  her  brother  ;  the  Tories  are  confident ;  there  is 
talk  of  a  peace  ;  the  Whigs  and  Dissenters  are  terrified.  But  our 
time  may  not  come  yet.' 

*  The  will  of  London,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  is  the  will  of  the  nation.' 
'  And,  if  fight  we  must,'  Tom  cried,  '  the  Earl  can  raise  a  thousand 

nen. 

'  We  shall  not  fight,'  said  Mr.  Errington.  *  We  will  have  a 
bloodless  revolution,  such  a  Restoration  as  that  of  King  Charles  TI., 
when  he  rode  from  Dover  to  London  through  a  lane  of  rejoicing 
faces.  I  know  not,  Mr.  Hilyard,  that  London  is  so  powerful  as 
you  would  have  us  believe.  But  already  the  country  is  with  us, 
and  the  clergy,  as  in  duty  bound.  And  the  most  that  either  party 
can  say  of  the  towns  is  that  they  are  divided.' 

A  bloodless  Restoration  !  It  was,  as  I  said,  the  dream  of  the 
better  sort.  But  the  Catholics  forgot  the  terror  of  the  Smithfield 
fires,  which  the  people  will  never  forget,  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion, so  long  as  England  remains  a  country.  The  martyi^s  have 
made  it  impossible  for  a  Papist  ever  again  to  rule  over  us. 

*  As.f or  us,'  said  Mr.  Errington,  '  we  know  very  well,  and  do  not 


64 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


disguise  from  ourselves,  that  in  the  present  temper  of  the  people 
the  Prince,  when  he  returns,  must  choose  his  Ministers  and  advisers, 
not  from  ourselves,  but  from  his  Protestant  supporters.  Lord 
Derwentwater  may  remain  his  Sovereign's  private  friend,  but  can 
never  become  a  member  of  his  Government.  It  is  to  you,  Tom, 
and  such  as  you,  that  the  King  must  turn.' 

'  It  is  what  I  am  always  telling  Mr.  Forster,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard. 

Mr.  Forster  replied,  with  a  blash  of  satisfaction  and  the  gravity 
which  the  subject  demanded,  that  he  was  very  much  of  Mr.  Erring- 
ton's  opinion  that,  whether  he  himself  should  be  found  competent 
to  become  a  Minister  or  not,  a  Protestant  country  must  have  a 
Protestant  Ministry,  and  that,  begging  Mr.  Errington's  pardon, 
when  the  priest  walks  in,  the  King  and  his  people  fall  out. 

So  we  rode  along  slowly,  for  the  way  is  none  of.  the  best,  in  such 
discourse,  until  about  three  o'clock  or  so,  and  a  mile  or  two  beyond 
Dilston,  we  heard  a  great  shouting  ;  and  pricking  our  horses,  we 
presently  came  upon  a  party  of  those  who  had  ridden  on  before. 
They  were  now  drawn  up  in  a  double  line,  and  beyond  this,  his  hat 
in  his  hand,  my  lord  himself  rode  in  advance  of  his  party  to  meet 
his  friends.  No  prince  or  sovereign  in  Europe  but  would  have 
been  moved  and  gratified  by  so  noble  a  reception  as  the  young 
nobleman  received  from  the  gentlemen  who  had  thus  ridden  forth 
to  meet  him. 

The  path  at  this  place  is  but  a  beaten  track  over  the  turf  and 
level  ground  south  of  the  river,  which  is  here  broad  and  shallow, 
with  islets  and  long  tongues  of  sand  ;  there  was  an  old  angler  in 
midstream,  with  rod  and  fly,  careless  (or  perhaps  he  was  deaf)  of 
what  this  great  shouting  might  mean,  which  he  seemed  not  to 
hear.  The  ground  is  flat  and  covered  with  a  rough  coarse  grass  ; 
southward  rise  the  gentle  hills,  clothed  with  the  woods  which 
everywhere,  except  on  the  moors  and  the  Cheviots,  enrich  the  land- 
skip  of  Northumberland,  and  form  its  boast.  It  was  on  this  field 
that  we  received  my  lord. 

It  is  nearly  five-and-twenty  years  ago.  If  Lord  Derwentwater 
were  living,  he  would  now  be  a  man  of  forty-six,  still  in  the  full 
force  and  vigour  of  his  manhood.  Would  he  still  remember  (but 
he  must)  that  afternoon  in  February,  when,  with  his  hat  off,  and 
the  setting  sun  full  in  his  face,  making  it  shine  like  the  face  of 
Moses  upon  the  mountain,  he  rode  through  that  lane  of  gentlemen  ? 
As  for  myself,  I  saw  more  than  I  expected  in  my  dreams.  He  was 
always  the  Prince  of  a  fairy  story  ;  such  as  was  the  Childy  Wynd, 
who  transformed  the  loathly  Worm  of  Spindleston,  so  was  he  ;  or 
as  King  Arthur  sitting  under  Dunstanburgh,  ever  young  and  glorious, 
so  was  he.  But  the  Prince  of  my  dreams  was  a  plain  country 
gentlemen,  and  before  me  was  a  gentleman  of  a  kind  I  had  never 
imagined,  more  courtly,  more  handsome,  more  splendid.  There  are 
some  men  who  are  called  handsome  by  reason  of  a  certain  uniformity 
of  feature  (such  as  may  be  carved  with  a  chisel  out  of  a  piece  of 
stone)  ;  there  are  many  who  for  a  single  good  feature,  a  straight 


ROOM  FOR  MY  LORD. 


65 


nose,  the  pleasing  curve  of  a  mouth,  an  agreeable  smile,  a  bright 
eye,  may  be  very  justly  called  pretty  fellows.  But  all  alike  were 
agreed  in  calling  Lord  Derwentwater  the  handsomest  of  men. 
There  are  also  some  men,  but  very  few,  to  whom  has  been  given 
that  remarkable  gift  of  commanding  admiration,  of  compelling 
affection,  and  establishing  firm  confidence  at  the  very  first  aspect 
and  appearance  of  them.  Such  was  my  lord.  For  my  own  part,  I 
know  of  no  other  man  of  all  those  who  have  lived  in  this  eighteenth 
century,  whose  face  is  so  well  remembered  even  twenty  years  and 
more  after  his  death.  "Why,  there  is  not  a  woman,  over  thirty, 
within  twenty  miles  of  Dilston  or  Hexham,  who,  at  the  mere  men- 
tion of  his  name  or  recollection  of  his  face,  doth  not  instantly  fetch 
a  sigh  and  drop  a  tear  in  memory  of  the  handsome  lord. 

For  those  who  never  had  the  fortune  to  see  him  in  the  flesh,  it  is 
necessary  to  state  that  his  face  was  full,  with  features  well  propor- 
tioned ;  his  nose  long  and  finely  cut  ;  his  eyes  grey  of  colour,  and 
large  (the  large  eye,  they  say,  betokens  the  generous  heart)  ;  I  have 
myself  seen  those  eyes  so  full  of  love,  pity,  and  tenderness,  that  it 
makes  the  memory  of  them  fill  my  own  with  tears.  His  forehead 
was  high  and  square — Mr.  Hilyard  says  that  men  with  such  fore- 
heads, when  they  are  born  in  humble  circumstances,  take  to  study, 
and  become  philosophers,  theologians,  and  great  scholars,  instancing 
his  own  forehea^d  as  an  example,  which  is  broad  indeed,  but  lacking 
the  dignity  which  sat  upon  the  brow  of  the  young  Earl.  His  chin 
was  round  and  large — a  small  chin,  or  a  chin  which  falls  back,  says 
Mr.  Hilyard,  is  a  sign  of  weakness  and  irresolution  ;  a  deserter, 
coward,  runaway,  or  informer  should  be  painted  with  a  retreating 
chin  (Mr.  Patten's  chin  was  such,  which  proves  the  statement). 
As  for  my  lord's  lips,  they  were  firm  and  well  set,  yet  of  the  kind 
which  betray  passion  and  agitation  of  the  mind,  so  that  those  who 
knew  him  well  could  at  all  times  read  in  the  movements  of  his  lips 
the  emotions  of  his  soul.  Every  feature  in  the  face,  according  to 
Mr.  Hilyard,  coiTesponds  to  some  virtue  or  defect  in  the  soul. 
Thus,  if  one  have  thick  lips,  thrust  forward,  like  Mr.  Patten,  one 
may  be  expected  to  be  like  him,  a  self-seeker,  chattet-er,  mischief- 
maker,  and  betrayer  of  honest  folk.  My  lord's  complexion  was  fair, 
and,  before  his  hair  was  shaved,  his  head  had  been  adorned  with 
clusters  of  brown  curls. 

In  short,  the  countenance  of  Lord  Derwentwater  indicated  a  soul 
full  of  dignity,  benevolence,  and  sweetness.  So  it  looked  to  me  the 
first  time  that  ever  I  looked  upon  it  ;  so  it  proved  to  be  so  long  as 
I  knew  it  ;  so  it  seemed  to  me  the  last  time — oh,  most  sad  and 
sorrowful  time  ! — that  I  sav/  it.  There  never  was  any  human  face 
in  which  the  great  virtues  of  humanity  and  kindness  were  more 
brightly  illustrated  than  in  the  face  of  this  young  gentleman. 

Behind  the  Earl  rode  his  two  brothers,  Francis  and  Charles.  The 
former  was  of  smaller  stature  than  the  elder  brother,  and  held  his 
head  down  as  if  in  thought  ;  but  it  was  his  habit  to  go  thus  looking 
upon  the  ground.    Wb  m  he  lifted  his  eyes  one  saw  that  they  were 


66 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


strangely  sad,  and  on  his  face  there  rested  always  a  cloud,  for  which 

there  was  no  reason  save  that  he  was,  like  his  uncle,  of  a  melancholic 
temperament  from  his  youth  upv/ards  ;  and  his  eyes  had  always  a 
look  in  them  as  of  one  who  expects  misfortune.  Witches  say  that 
to  men  with  such  a  look  in  their  eyes  misfortune  comes  ;  it  is  said 
that  the  look  of  impending  misfortune  may  be  read  in  the  eyes  of 
all  the  Stuarts — the  Royal  House  which  the  Fates,  or  rather  the 
Furies,  have  persecuted  with  strange  malevolence.  Can  it  be  that 
the  future  of  a  man  may  be  read  in  his  eyes,  as  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand  ?  I  know  not  ;  but  Jenny  Lee,  my  maid,  the  little  gipsy 
witch,  dropped  strange  prophetic  hints  about  these  young  men,  for 
which  I  rebuked  her,  even  before  she  read  their  hands.  As  for 
Charles,  the  youngest  of  the  three,  he  was  as  yet  but  a  lad  of 
sixteen,  well-grown  and  comely  ;  wore  his  own  brown  hair,  and  was 
as  handsome  as  his  eldest  brother,  yet  in  a  different  way.  Those 
who  can  read  fate  in  the  eyes  may  have  read  his  sorrows  there,  but 
to  the  rest  of  us  they  were  brave  and  merry  eyes,  belonging  to  a 
young  man  who  neither  looked  for  evil  nor  feared  it,  and  certainly 
never  anticipated  it  ;  a  brave,  impetuous  creature,  as  full  of  fancies 
and  whims  as  any  girl,  as  hot-headed  as  a  Highlander'  ;  no  lover  of 
books  or  reading,  yet  a  lad  who  had  a  great  deal  of  knowledge,  and 
forgot  nothing.  As  he  read  so  little,  one  must  needs  conjecture 
that  he  picked  up  his  knowledge  as  the  birds  pick  up  their  crumbs, 
bit  by  bit  from  conversation.  Thus,  though  no  scholar,  he  began 
very  soon  to  be  curious  about  the  Roman  remains,  ancient  ruins, 
and  the  antiquities  of  the  county,  so  that  he  must  needs  ride  over 
to  ChoUerford  with  Mr.  Hilyard  to  see  the  old  bridge  and  the  wall, 
and  discourse  with  him  on  moat  and  tower,  and  the  uses  of  the 
wall,  as  if  he  had  been  a  great  student. 

The  mud  and  dust  of  travel  had  stained  their  clothes,  but  still  the 
three  brothers  were  much  more  richly  dressed  than  our  plain  gentle- 
men, who  for  the  most  part  wore  plain  drab  or  plush  coats,  with 
silver  buttons,  their  linen  not  always  of  the  freshest,  their  ruffles 
generally  torn,  and  their  wigs  undressed.  But  then  there  is  not 
much  money  among  these  younger  sons,  so  that  these  things  go  un- 
regarded. Nevertheless,  I  saw  more  than  one  looking  with  envy  on 
the  gold-laced  hats  and  the  embroidered  scarfs  of  the  Earl  and  his 
brothers. 

Well,  there  was,  to  be  sure,  a  great  shouting  as  my  lord  rode 
slowly  through  this  lane,  shaking  hands  with  every  man  in  turn. 
He  knew  the  names  and  families,  though  not  the  faces,  of  all,  and 
could  give  each  a  kindly  speech,  with  his  Christian  name,  as  if  he 
had  been  an  old  friend  separated  only  by  a  month  or  two.  Presently 
it  came  to  our  turn,  and  he  bowed  very  low  and  kissed  my  hand, 
saying  a  pretty  thing  about  the  good  omen  of  being  welcomed  by 
the  beautiful  Dorothy  Forster,  and  that  if  she  would  extend  her 
friendship  to  him  he  should  indeed  be  happy. 

'  I  fear,  my  lord,'  I  said,  being  confused  with  so  much  com- 
pliment, '  that  you  take  me  for  my  aunt,  Lady  Crewe.' 


ROOM  FOR  MY  LORD. 


67 


*  Nay/  he  said,  ^  I  take  you  for  no  other  than  yourself  ;  although 
I  know,  believe  me,  of  that  elder  Dorothy,  once  the  flame  of  my 
father.' 

And  then  more  compliments,  which  may  be  omitted,  because  they 
were  framed  in  pure  kindness,  and  intended  to  please  a  girl  who 
certainly  never  had  many  pretty  things  said  to  her  before,  though 
she  knew  very  well  that  many  gentlemen,  she  thought  to  please  her 
brother,  called  her  the  beautiful  Dorothy. 

My  lord  had  been  from  infancy  at  the  Court  of  St.  Germain, 
where,  although  there  were  many  English  gentlemen  and  their  sons, 
French  was  commonly  talked.  He  had  also  had  French  servants 
and  valets,  and  lived  among  a  people  talking  nothing  but  their  own 
language.  It  is  not,  therefore,  wonderful  that  he  not  only  talked 
French  as  well  as  English,  but  also  spoke  his  own  language  with  a 
slight  foreign  accent.  This  very  soon  wore  off  (changing  into  the 
Northumberland  bmT),  together  with  a  certain  shyness  which 
marked  him  during  the  early  days  when  he  knew  nothing  of  his 
friends  except  by  name,  and  found  them,  as  he  afterwards  confessed 
to  me,  different,  indeed,  from  his  expectations  ;  that  is  to  say,  less 
polished  in  their  manners,  and  more  loyal  in  their  friendships. 
Could  a  gentleman  have  higher  praise  ?  And  is  not  loyalty  better 
than  a  fine  manner,  however  well  we  are  pleased  with  it  ? 

*  And  this,'  said  my  lord,  '  I  dare  swear,  is  my  cousin,  Tom  Forster 
of  Bamborough.' 

'  No  other,  my  lord,'  cried  Tom  heartily,  *  and  right  glad  to  see 
you  home  again.' 

Presently  all  rode  back  together,  the  younger  men  still  shouting, 
and  the  elders  riding  soberly  behind  the  Earl,  I  having  the  honour 
of  riding  on  his  right  hand,  and  Mr.  Errington  on  his  left,  while 
Tom  rode  with  Frank  and  Charles  Eadcliffe.  It  was  wonderful  to 
observe  how  my  lord  knew  all  of  them,  and  their  private  affairs  and 
estates,  and  their  position  in  the  county.  Indeed,  by  his  father's 
orders — his  mother  caring  nothing  about  such  matters — he  had  been 
instructed  most  carefully  in  the  history  of  Northumberland  families. 
It  was  an  amiable  and  even  a  prince-like  quality  in  him,  as  it  had 
been  in  his  grandfather,  Charles  II.,  never  to  forget  the  faces  of 
those  whom  he  met.  I  suppose  that,  had  he  chosen  to  exercise  the 
power,  he  might  also,  like  his  royal  cousin,  and  by  right  of  descent, 
have  touched  for  the  king's  evil.  Certainly  the  disloyal  usurper, 
the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  did  so. 

It  was  now  nearly  four  o'clock,  and  the  short  February  day  was 
drawing  to  a  close.  But  the  people  who  had  come  so  far  were  not 
tired  of  waiting,  and  we  found  them  all  upon  the  bridge  ready  to 
shout  their  honest  greeting.  An  honest  and  hearty  crowd.  Among 
them  were  not  only  some  of  the  Earl's  cousins — there  was  never  a 
Radcliffe  without  a  cloud  of  cousins — and  Lord  Widdrington,  with 
his  brothers  and  others  of  the  company  from  Hexham,  but  also  the 
tenants  and  farmers,  and  a  great  company  of  miners,  rough  and 
rude  fellows,  with  bristly  beards  and  shaggy  coats,  who  had  trudged 

5—2 


68 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


across  the  moor  from  Allendale.  Tliey  were  gathered  together  on 
the  bridge,  with  pipers  and  a  drum.  When  the  procession  came  in 
sight,  you  may  fancy  what  a  noise,  with  the  music  and  the  shouting, 
was  raised,  and  what  a  waving  and  throwing  up  of  hats,  and  how 
the  younger  men  in  their  joy,  after  the  manner  of  young  men,  did 
beat  and  belabour  one  another.  The  Earl  stopped  and  looked  about 
him.  These  hundreds  were  assembled  to  give  him  welcome  home. 
It  is  such  a  sight  as  brings  the  tears  into  a  young  man's  eyes  ;  it 
was  the  first  time,  perhaps,  that  he  understood  his  own  power  ;  the 
visible  proof  of  it  dazzled  and  moved  him — remember  this,  I  pray 
you.  jSTow,  had  he  been  brought  up  among  all  these  people,  he 
would  have  been  familiar  with  his  greatness  from  the  beginning, 
and  so  might  have  grown  hardened  in  heart,  as  happens  to  many 
who  come  to  their  estates  in  boyhood.  This  was  not  his  case  ;  and 
he  was  ever  full  of  compassion  for  those  who  were  his  tenants,  his 
dependents,  and  his  servants.  When  the  end  came  he  spared  them  ; 
he  would  not  lead  them  out  to  the  destruction  which  he  wrought  for 
himself,  and  from  a  mistaken  sense  of  honour,  though  with  a  heavy 
heart.  I  say,  at  the  sight  of  these  rude  and  hearty  people  the  tears 
came  into  the  young  Earl's  eyes  and  fell  down  his  cheeks.  I,  who 
was  nearest  to  him.,  saw  them,  and  treasured  the  memory  of  them 
in  my  heart. 

These  rude  miners,  these  sturdy  farmers,  these  rough  fellows, 
with  their  strange  speech  unfamiliar  to  him,  were  his  own  people, 
not  his  serfs  and  slaves.  They  were  bound  to  him  by  no  cruel 
laws  of  service,  as  the  wretched  people  of  France  ;  yet,  at  his 
bidding,  they  would  rise  to  a  man  and  follow  him.  The  Radcliffes 
were  at  no  time  tyrants  and  oppressors  of  the  poor.  From  father 
to  son  they  were  always  a  kindly  race,  who  dealt  generously  with 
the  people,  and  reaped  their  reward  in  the  affection  and  the  loyalty 
of  their  attendants  and  dependents.  Perhaps  Lord  Derwentwater, 
as  he  gazed  upon  the  sea  of  faces,  remembered  that  he  might  some 
day  bid  them  take  pike  and  tirelock  and  follow  him.  I,  for  one, 
am  ashamed  to  say  that  this  was  in  my  thoughts  ;  and  so,  I  am 
sure,  it  was  in  the  thoughis  of  others  in  the  company,  who  looked 
on  the  Earl  as  nothing  but  the  possible  leader  of  so  many  hundred 
men,  and  the  owner  of  vast  wealth,  which  was  to  be  at  the  service 
of  the  Cause. 

Then  we  rode  across  the  bridge,  and  so  up  the  steep  lane  which 
leads  to  the  great  avenue  of  Dilston  Hall,  and,  beyond  the  avenue, 
the  bridge  across  the  Devilstone,  its  water,  then  foaming  white, 
rushing  down  the  dark  and  narrow  channel  between  rugged  rocks 
covered  with  green  moss  and  (but  not  in  March)  with  climbing 
j)lants,  and  arched  over  with  trees,  such  as  larch,  alder,  birch,  and 
rowan.  Behind  us  tramped  and  ran  the  crowd,  all  shouting  together, 
with  such  a  tumult  as  had  not  been  seen  since  last  the  Scottish 
marauders  attacked  the  town  of  Hexham  ;  and  that  was  long  enough 
ago,  and  clean  forgotten. 

At  the  doors  of  the  castle  the  EarFs  nearest  relations  stood  ready 


ROOM  FOR  MY  LORD. 


69 


to  receive  him.  The  first  to  greet  him  were  his  SAints,  the  Ladies 
Katherine  and  Mary  Radcli:ffe,  the  sisters  of  the  late  Earl.  They 
were  not  yet  old,  as  Northumberland  counts  age,  but  certainly 
stricken  in  years,  and  perhaps  neither  of  them  under  fifty.  Both 
were  dressed  alike,  and  wore  simple  black  silk  frocks,  with  plain 
satin  petticoats,  high  stomachers,  and  a  great  quantity  of  lace  on 
their  sleeves  ;  also  they  had  on  long  white  kid  gloves,  and  their  hair 
was  carefully  dressed  in  high  commodes,  on  the  top  of  which  was 
more  lace,  which  gave  them  a  nun-like  appearance.  Everybody 
knows  that  they  hesitated  all  their  lives  whether  or  no  to  enter  a 
convent,  but  in  deference  to  their  spiritual  adviser  remained  without 
those  gloomy  walls,  and  yet  practised,  besides  the  usual  Christian 
virtues,  as  to  which  many  ladies  of  lower  rank  will  not  yield  to 
them,  the  iniles  of  some  strict  sisterhood,  in  virtue  of  which  they 
rose  early,  and  even  in  the  night,  to  pray  in  the  chapel,  fasted  very 
frequently,  and  went  always  in  terror  whether,  by  taking  an  egg  on 
a  Friday,  or  sugar  to  their  chocolate,  or  cheese  in  Lent,  they  were 
not  endangeiing  their  precious  souls.  I  laugh  not  at  them,  because 
they  lived  up  to  the  light  of  their  consciences,  and  according  to 
the  laws  laid  down  by  their  confessor.  Yet  I  am  happy  in  having 
had  the  plain  Rule  of  Life  laid  down  for  me  by  my  Prayer  Book, 
the  late  Lord  Bishop  of  Durham,  and,  in  ^*hese  recent  years,  by  Mr. 
Ililyard.  I  need  no  confessor,  and  my  conscience  is  at  peace  within 
me,  whatever  I  eat  or  drink,  thereby  imitating  the  example  of  St. 
Paul.  However,  these  were  great  ladies,  who  thought  much  of  the 
example  they  were  setting  to  other  women  ;  they  were  proud  and 
stately  in  their  bearing,  yet  kind  of  heart ;  in  appearance  they  were 
so  much  alike  that  at  first  one  did  not  distinguish  them.  Lady 
Katherine  was  the  elder,  and  she  was  perhaps  more  lined  and  crossed 
in  the  face  than  her  sister. 

A  pretty  sight  it  was  to  see  these  two  ladies  trembling  v/hen  their 
nephews  approached,  looking  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  three 
gallant  young  men  who  stood  before  them,  and  turning  at  length  to 
the  tallest  and  bravest  of  the  three,  who  stepped  forward  and  bent 
his  knee,  kissing  their  hands,  and  then  kissing  their  cheeks. 

'James,'  cried  Lady  Katherine,  'you  are  like  my  father  more 
than  your  own.' 

'  Nay,  sister,'  said  Mary,  '  he  is  also  like  our  deceased  brother. 
Nephew,  3^ou  are  welcome  home.  Stay  with  your  own  people  ;  a 
Padcliffe  is  best  in  Northumberland  ;  stay  among  us,  and  marry  a 
North  Country  girl.  And  these  are  Frank  and  Charles.  My  dears, 
you  are  also  very  welcome.  Remember,  we  are  English  here,  not 
French.' 

So  they,  too,  saluted  their  aunts,  and  then  Lady  Swinburne  fol- 
lowed, and  after  her  Sir  William,  who,  as  he  bade  his  cousin  welcome 
to  his  own,  loudly  expressed  the  hope  that  nothing  would  be  at- 
tempted by  the  Earl  or  his  friends  which  would  endanger  so  noble 
a  head  or  so  great  an  estate,  adding  that  he  knew  there  were  many 
aboat  who  would  endeavour  to  make  his  lordship  a  stalking-hox'se  ; 


70 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


that  he  was  young  as  yet,  and  inexperienced  ;  and  that  he  com* 
mended  him  to  follow  the  counsels  of  his  father's  old  friend,  Mr. 
Errington. 

To  this  Lord  Widdrington  responded  with  a  loud  '  Amen '  and  a 
profane  oath,  saying  that  as  for  danger,  if  all  who  were  in  the  same 
boat  would  only  pull  together,  and  with  a  will,  there  would  be  no 
danger. 

So,  one  after  the  other,  all  had  been  presented  to  the  Earl,  and 
we  were  beginning  to  wonder  what  would  come  next,  when  we  saw 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Patten  stepping  forward  with  an  air  of  great 
importance.  He  bowed  very  low,  and  said  that  he  had  the  honour 
to  represent  the  Protestant  Church  of  England  and  the  clergy  of 
Northumberland.  (This  shows  the  pushing,  lying  nature  of  the 
man,  who  had  been  in  the  Vicarage  but  a  few  months,  and  was  un- 
known to  the  clergy,  except  that  he  was  once  curate  at  Penrith.) 
In  their  name  he  bade  his  lordship  welcome.  Speaking  as  a  High 
Churchman  and  Tory,  he  said  that  he,  in  common  with  most,  desired 
nothing  so  much  as  to  be  delivered  of  the  godless  ;  meaning,  I  sup- 
pose, the  Whigs.  And  that,  as  for  those  who  wish  to  transfer  the 
succession  to  the  House  of  Hanover,  he  could  say,  from  his  con- 
science ; 

'  Confounded  be  these  rebels  all 
That  to  usurpers  bow, 
And  make  what  Gods  and  Kings  they  please, 
And  worship  them  below.' 

He  said  a  good  deal  more — being  applauded  by  some  and  regarded 
by  others  as  an  impertinent  intruder.  I  was  pleased  to  contrast 
this  officiousness  with  the  modesty  of  Mr.  Hilyard,  who  stood  with- 
out, not  presuming  to  be  presented  to  my  lord,  or  to  address  him  ; 
yet,  if  he  had  spoken,  he  would  certainly  have  delivered  a  very  fine 
discourse,  full  of  Latin  quotations  and  reference  to  ancient  authors. 

*  I  thank  you,  sir,'  said  my  lord  coldly,  when  this  person  had 
quite  finished  ;  '  but  for  this  evening,  indeed,  we  will  have  nothing 
of  "politics  or  the  godless,  or  of  Whigs  and  Tories.' 

This  he  said  partly  to  rebuke  the  impertinent  zeal  of  Mr.  Patten, 
and  partly  to  silence  certain  noisy  gentlemen,  including  the  noto- 
rious Dick  Gascoigne  and  Jack  Hall,  who  were  loudly  boasting  of 
what  would  happen  now  that  his  lordship  was  at  home.  One  may 
truly  say  that  there  was  hardly  a  moment  from  the  time  of  the 
Earl's  return  when  he  was  allowed  to  rest  in  peace,  from  the  day  he 
returned  to  the  day  when  he  left  his  castle  for  the  last  time  ;  their 
intention  being  always  to  keep  before  his  lordship,  and  never  suffer 
him  to  forget,  that  he  was  considered  the  head  and  chief  of  the 
Prince's  adherents  in  the  north,  and  that  his  approval  was  taken 
for  granted,  whatever  was  hatched.  Those  who  were  for  open 
rebellion  reckoned  that  he  would  join  the  first  rising,  whenever  and 
wherever  that  was  attempted,  without  hesitation  ;  as  for  those  who 
were  for  patience  and  making  the  party  strong,  they  knew  that 


ROOM  FOR  MY  LORD. 


71 


they  could  depend  upon  him.  In  reality,  however,  it  was  perfectly 
well  understood  that  the  Earl  desired  above  all  things,  and  was 
desired  by  the  leading  men  of  the  party,  to  keep  himself  retired 
and  apart  from  politics  until  the  time  came  when,  like  an  important 
piece  in  the  game  of  chess,  he  could  move  with  the  best  effect. 

It  would  have  been  more  consonant  with  his  ambition  had  he 
been  born  a  mere  private  gentleman,  able  to  live  out  his  days  in 
peace,  and  in  the  exercise  of  good  works.  But  then,  as  Mr.  Hilyard 
truly  said,  it  is  not  every  great  man  who  is  suffered  by  his  friends, 
like  Diocletian,  after  making  Rome  the  metropolis  of  the  whole 
world,  by  a  voluntary  exile  to  retire  himself  from  it,  and  to  end  his 
days  in  his  own  secluded  villa,  a  gardener  and  a  private  gentleman 
in  Dalmatia  ;  or  like  Scipio,  to  build  his  house  in  the  midst  of  a 
wood.  Lord  Derwentwater  would  have  imitated  this  great  Roman 
had  it  been  permitted.  It  is,  however,  the  misfortune  of  the  great 
that  the  grandeur  and  eminence  of  their  state  will  not  permit  them 
to  taste  for  long  the  felicities  of  a  private  life. 

'An  earl's  coronet  in  unquiet  times,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  4s  like 
unto  a  king's  crown.  Few  of  them  are  so  soft  lined  but  they  sit 
heavy  on  the  wearer's  brow.' 

When  my  lord  and  his  brothers  retired  to  change  their  travelling- 
dress.  Colonel  Radcliffe  invited  the  whole  company  to  a  supper,  or 
banquet,  which  would  be  shortly  served  in  the  great  hall.  This 
was,  of  course,  expected.  Presently  the  brothers  returned,  dressed 
in  a  fashion  suitable  to  their  rank.  The  Earl  had  now  a  peach- 
coloured  satin  coat,  lined  with  white,  a  flowered  silk  waistcoat,  a 
crimson  scarf,  white  silk  stockings,  and  red-heeled  shoes  with 
diamond  buckles.  He  gave  his  hand  to  his  aunt.  Lady  Katharine. 
Lord  Widdrington  followed  with  Lady  Mary,  Francis  Radcliffe  with 
Lady  Swinburne,  Charles  with  Madam  Errington,  and  Sir  William 
with  myself,  and  the  rest  after  us  in  due  order  and  such  precedence 
as  their  age  and  rank  allowed. 

I  think  there  never  was  a  more  joyful  banquet  than  this  ;  perhaps 
the  cooks  were  not  equal  to  those  of  Paris,  but  I  am  sure  that  by 
the  guests  nothing  better  could  have  been  desired  or  expected.  Of 
ladies  there  were  only  the  five  I  have  named,  I  was  pleased  to 
observe  at  the  bottom  of  the  table  Mr.  Hilyard,  who  was  proposing 
to  retire,  as,  not  being  a  gentleman  of  the  county  or  by  birth,  he 
was  right  in  doing  ;  but  Colonel  Radcliffe,  who  knew  him  w^ell,  in- 
sisted on  his  coming  in,  and  placed  him  at  the  table  beside  himself. 

It  was  Mr.  Errington  who  asked  the  gentlemen  to  drink  a  bumper 
to  the  health  of  his  lordship.  He  reminded  those  present  who  were 
of  his  own  age  that  it  was  already  twenty  years  since  a  Radcliffe 
had  lived  in  Dilston  Hall,  and  more  than  that  length  of  time  since 
so  large  a  company  had  met  together  under  its  roof.  He  then  spoke 
of  the  young  Earl's  education,  and  averred  his  belief  that,  though 
brought  up  in  France,  he  had  remained  an  Englishman  at  heart, 
and  had  brought  from  that  country  nothing  but  the  politeness  of 
its  nobles  and  the  gallantry  of  its  people — qualities,  he  said,  which. 


72 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


added  to  the  courage  of  the  English  bulldog  and  his  own  generous 
nature  as  a  true  E-adcliffe,  could  not  but  command  the  affections 
and  respect  of  all.  He  would  have  said  more,  but  the  gentlemen 
would  listen  no  longer,  and,  springing  to  their  feet,  drained  their 
glasses,  and  shouted  so  that  it  did  your  heart  good  to  hear  them. 
I  am  quite  sure  there  was  never  a  hyp-ocrite  or  pretender  among 
them  all  (save  Mr.  Patten),  so  hearty  and  so  unfeigned  was  their 
joy  to  receive  this  comely  and  gallant  gentleman  among  them. 

'  Gentlemen,'  said  his  lordship,  when  they  suffered  him  at  length 
to  speak,  and  when  his  voice  returned  to  him,  for  he  was  choked 
almost  with  the  natural  emotion  which  was  caused  by  so  much 
heartiness — '  Gentlemen,  I  know  not  how  to  thank  you  sufficiently  ; 
indeed,  I  have  no  words  strong  enough  for  my  thanks.  I  am  an 
untried  stranger,  and  you  treat  me  as  a  proved  friend.  Yet  we  are 
kith  and  kin  ;  we  are  cousins  all  ;  our  ancestors  stood  shoulder  to 
shoulder  in  many  a  border  fight ;  so  let  us  always  stand  together. 
And  as  for  what  my  cousin,  Sir  William,  said  just  now,  it  is  truly 
the  wish  of  the  Prince  that  no  rash  or  ill-considered  enterprise  be 
taken  in  hand.' 

Then  he  sat  down,  saying  no  more,  for  he  was  a  man  of  few 
words.  And,  while  the  gentlemen  shouted  again,  the  ladies  left  the 
board,  and  went  away  to  talk  by  themselves  about  his  lordship  and 
h^s  two  brothers. 

Meantime,  outside,  the  common  sort,  unmindful  of  the  cold, 
were  regaling  themselves  in  their  own  way,  having  a  barrel  or  two 
of  strong  ale  broached,  and  a  great  fire,  where  an  ox  was  roasting 
whole,  the  very  smell  of  the  beef  being  a  banquet  to  many  poor 
souls  who  seldom  taste  flesh,  unless  it  be  the  flesh  of  swine,  and 
that  in  great  lumps  of  fat,  which  they  sometimes  eat  with  bread 
and  sometimes  soak  in  hot  milk,  Providence  having  bestowed  upon 
this  class  of  people  stomachs  stronger  than  those  of  gentlefolk. 

'  In  all  times,'  saith  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  roast-beef  has  been  in  great 
scarcity,  insomuch  that  in  Homer  the  gods  are  represented  as  pleased 
by  the  fragrance  or  perfume  of  the  roasting  meat.  And,  if  the  very 
gods,  how  much  more  the  common  people  !  A  morsel  of  bread 
dipped  in  oil,  and  a  fig  or  a  bunch  of  grapes,  made  their  only  meal 
for  the  day.  As  for  swine's  flesh,  that  they  never  so  much  as 
tasted.  When  the  Crusaders  occupied  the  Holy  Land  (where  they 
founded  the  Latin  Kingdom,  which  they  thought  would  last  for 
ever),  leprosy  broke  out  among  them,  which  they  attributed  to  the 
eating  of  pork.    But  I  know  not  if  that  was  indeed  the  case.' 

Certainly,  to  a  Northumbrian  nose,  there  is  no  smell  more  delicious 
than  that  of  a  piece  of  roasting  beef,  and  these  good  fellows  were 
sitting  patiently  about  the  fire  until  the  ox  should  be  cooked  through. 
Some  there  were,  it  is  true,  who,  miscalculating  their  strength  of 
head,  took  so  many  pulls  at  Black  Jack  that  they  rolled  over,  and 
had  to  be  carried  into  the  kitchen  and  laid  on  the  floor,  so  that  they 
wont  supperless  to  bed.    This  was  a  pity,  bec£^use  his  lordship  did 


ROOM  FOR  MY  LORD, 


73 


not  give  a  roasted  ox  every  day  in  the  year,  and  to  lose  yonr  share 
in  a  great  feast  is  a  dreadful  thing  for  a  poor  man,  and  one  thrown 
in  his  teeth  all  his  life  afterwards. 

When  Lord  Derw^entwater  left  his  guests,  which  was  early,  be- 
cause he  never  loved  deep  potations,  he  went  outside  to  speak  with 
his  humble  friends  round  the  bonfire.  They  were  at  the  moment 
engaged  upon  the  beef,  which  was  good,  but  underdone,  and  in  their 
best  and  most  cheerful  mood.  He  went  among  them  shaking  them 
by  the  hand,  asking  their  names,  kissing  the  young  Avomen,  promis- 
ing to  call  at  their  houses  and  farms,  bidding  the  lads  bustle  about 
with  the  beer,  promising  to  help  them  if  he  could  be  of  any  help, 
laughing  at  himself  for  understanding  their  speech  slowly,  and  all 
with  so  hearty  and  easy  a  grace  as  to  make  the  poor  folk  feel  that 
truly  a  friend  had  come  to  them  at  last  across  the  seas. 

The  housekeeper,  good  Mrs.  Busby,  who  had  waited  for  him  day 
and  night  for  twenty  years,  found  beds  for  the  ladies  and  for  some 
of  the  gentlemen.  But  most  of  them  slept  where  they  fell,  and  in 
the  morning,  by  dint  of  cold  water  poured  upon  the  head,  and  small- 
beer  within,  recovered  their  faculties  before  they  rode  away. 

Before  I  went  up  the  great  staircase  to  bed,  I  looked  into  the 
hall.  It  was  already  very  late — nearly  eleven.  The  gentlemen 
were  drinking  still,  and  some  of  them  were  smoking  pipes  of 
tobacco,  while  some  wxre  very  red  in  the  face,  and  some  had  fallen 
asleep — their  heads  hanging  downwards  and  quite  helpless  and  sad 
to  see,  or  else  lolling  back  upon  the  chair  with  open  mouth  like  an 
idiot,  or  lying  on  the  table  upon  their  arms.  Strong  drink  had 
stolen  away  their  brains,  and  for  twelve  hours  they  w^ould  be  sense- 
less. Among  those  who  slept  in  their  chairs  was  none  other  than 
his  reverence,  Mr.  Robert  Patten.  A  shameful  spectacle!  His 
great  mouth  was  wide  open,  his  head  lying  back,  and  some  wag  with 
a  burnt  cork  had  marked  his  upper  lip  and  cheeks  with  the  black 
moustachios  and  ferocious  whiskers  borne — I  am  told — by  certain 
soldiers  of  a  fierce  and  warlike  nation  called  Heyducs.  Why,  it  is 
a  venial  thing  for  a  layman,  one  who  has,  perhaps,  ridden  and  hunted 
for  a  whole  day,  to  be  overcome  with  thirst  and  potency  of  drink  ; 
but  for  a  clergyman,  one  whose  thoughts  should  be  set  upon  holy 
things  and  the  mysteries  of  the  Christian  scheme — faugh !  the  sight 
is  sorrowful  indeed.  One  may  remember  many  evil  things  in  the 
life  of  Mr.  Patten,  but  few  more  disgraceful  than  his  tipsy  sense- 
lessness at  Lord  Derwentwater's  return. 

How  different  was  Mr.  Antony  Hilyard !  He  was  not  drunk, 
nor,  apparently,  touched  w^ith  wine.  But  his  jolly  red  face  was 
beaming  with  smiles.  On  one  side  of  him  sat  Colonel  Radcliffe, 
who  had  forgotten  his  invisible  enemy,  and  was  now  laughing  and 
listening ;  on  the  other  side  was  Charles  Radcliffe,  not  drinking, 
but  looking  curiously  around  him,  and  especially  at  the  singer,  as, 
with  glorified  face,  bright  eyes,  and  brandished  glass,  as  if  life  w\as 
to  him  a  dream  of  pure  happiness  without  a  care  or  a  fear,  he  sang 


74 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


merrily — men  are  like  children,  tickled  with  a  straw,  but  yet  it  is  a 
catching  air — his  famous  song  : 

*  I  am  a  jolly  toper,  I  am  a  ragged  Soph, 
Known  by  the  pimples  on  my  face  with  taking  bumpers  off  ; 
And  a-toping  we  will  go — we  will  go — we  will  go — 
And  a-toping  we  will  go.' 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  PRINCE   IN  ISRAEL. 

So  the  next  day  to  Blanchland,  a  ride  of  nine  miles  across  a  moor 
as  wild  as  any  in  England  ;  and  Tom  glum,  partly  on  account  of  , 
last  night's  wine  and  partly  at  prospect  of  a  whole  year  spent  in 
this  secluded  spot. 

'Consider,  sir,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  *the  advantages  of  the  plan. 
First,  it  will  be  impossible  to  spend  any  money  * 

Here  Tom  flung  into  a  rage,  and  swore  that  it  was  shameful  for 
the  owner  of  Bamborough  to  want  for  a  little  money. 

*Next,'  continued  the  judicious  steward,  'your  honour  will  have 
most  excellent  shooting  and  fishing  ;  and  as  for  society  ' 

'  I  know  all  your  songs,'  said  Tom.  '  Can  you  not  write  some 
more  ?' 

'As  for  society,  there  are  my  lord  and  his  brothers  within  an 
easy  ride.  Your  honour  doth  very  well  understand  that  it  may  be 
both  a  singular  advantage  for  yourself  to  enjoy  the  friendship  of  a 
nobleman  who  hath  the  Prince's  private  ear,  and  to  his  lordship  to 
have  the  benefit  of  your  experience  and  advice  in  the  conduct  of 
his  private  affairs.  As  for  that,  I  conceive  it  nothing  short  of  a 
Providential  interposition  that,  at  the  moment  when  he  should 
arrive,  inexperienced  and  raw,  he  should  find  in  your  honour  a  wise 
adviser.' 

'  That  is  true,  Tony,'  said  Tom,  looking  more  cheerful.  '  Dilston 
Hall  is  not  ten  miles  from  Blanchland,  and  the  wine  is  good.  We 
will  teach  him  how  to  drink  it.    These  Frenchmen  cannot  drink.' 

'  And  to  mix  whisky  punch.  In  France  they  do  not  even  know 
the  liquor.' 

'  Poor  devils !'  said  Tom.    '  His  lordship  has  much  to  learn.' 

But  as  Lord  Derwentwater  was  for  the  next  six  months  entirely 
occupied  with  the  survey  of  his  own  estates,  not  only  in  North- 
umberland, but  also  in  Lancashire  and  Cumberland,  we  saw  nothing 
of  him,  and  spent  our  time  without  any  company  other  than  our 
own.  Mr.  Patten,  it  is  true,  was  sometimes  so  kind  as  to  ride  across 
the  moor  from  AUenhcad,  and  by  a  coarse  flattery  (call  it  rather  an 
abject  surrender  of  his  judgment),  compared  with  which  Mr.  Hil- 
yard*s  method  was  fine  and  delicate,  he  acquired  an  influence  over 
Tom  which  afterwards  did  great  harm.  Certainly  it  was  a  quiet 
summer  which  we  spent,  and  had  Tom  been  content  I  should  have 


A  PRINCE  IN  ISRAEL. 


75 


been  happy.  Fortunately,  her  ladyship  was  pleased,  and  signified 
her  pleasure  in  plain  terms. 

* "  I  design  not," '  she  wrote,  *  ^'  that  my  nephew  should  live  other 
than  a  gentleman  of  his  name  and  position  ought.  But  I  am  well 
pleased  that  you  are  for  a  space  removed  from  the  company  of  those 
who  lead  you  into  wasteful  courses  with  horse-racing  and  wagers  " ' 
— Tom  had  been  of  late  unfortunate — '  "  of  which  it  is  now  well- 
nigh  time  to  have  done.  It  is  my  lord's  earnest  desire  that  you 
should  shortly  take  the  place  which  becomes  your  family,  and,  on 
the  retirement  of  your  father,  that  you  should  represent  the  county 
in  his  stead.  As  this  cannot  be  done  without  expense,  and  as  we 
learn  that  your  father  is  not  willing  to  undertake  the  charge,  having 
his  second  family  to  consider,  it  is  the  intention  of  my  lord  to  make 
an  annual  allowance  out  of  his  Northumberland  estates,  such  as  may 
suffice  for  your  maintenance  in  style  befitting  a  gentleman.  This 
generosity,  I  beg  you  to  believe,  is  unasked  by  me,  though  I  confess 
that  he  knows  very  well  the  solicitude  with  which  I  watch  the  wel- 
fare of  my  nephew.  To  be  guided,  as  well  as  to  be  assisted,  by  so 
great  and  good  a  man,  should  be  considered  by  you  an  honour."  ' 

*  This,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  who  was  reading  the  letter,  4s  the  first- 
fruit  of  that  intention  which  I  foretold  six  months  ago.' 

'Ay,'  said  Tom,  'always  at  her  ladyship's  apron.  But  go  on. 
Has  she  any  more  advice  ?  Am  I  to  ask  the  Bishop  permission  to 
take  a  glass  of  whisky  punch  ?  Will  he  give  me  leave  to  hunt 
upon  the  moor  ?    'Tis  all  his.' 

'He  who  hath  patience,'  replied  Mr.  Hilyard,  'hath  all.  Ladies' 
leading-strings  stretch  not  all  the  way  from  Durham  to  St.  Stephen's. 
I  proceed  with  the  letter  : 

'  "  I  desire  next  to  inform  yon  that  my  Lord  the  Bishop  hath  a 
great  desire  to  converse  with  Lord  Derwentwater,  and  that  in  a 
private  and  quiet  manner  which  will  give  no  opportunity  for  mali- 
cious tongues.  A  Bishop  of  the  English  Church  cannot  openly 
visit  a  Catholic  peer,  nor  should  he  invite  scandal  and  malignant 
whispers  by  entertaining  in  his  own  house  so  close  a  friend  and  so 
near  a  relation  of  the  Prince.  He  wishes,  therefore,  that  you 
should  invite  a  hunting-party  to  Blanchland  in  October,  at  which 
he,  too,  unless  otherwise  prevented,  will  be  present.  Among  your 
guests  be  sure  that  Lord  Derwentwater  is  present.  So  no  more  at 
present.  Give  Dorothy,  your  sister,  my  blessing  and  that  of  the 
Bishop,  and  tell  Mr.  Hilyard,  your  steward,  that  I  expect  thrift  in 
household  charges  while  you  are  at  Blanchland. 

* "  Your  loving  Aunt, 

Dorothy  Crewe."* 

To  be  sure,  it  was  impossible  to  spend  money  at  this  quiet  place, 
where  there  were  no  gentlemen  to  make  matches,  play  cards,  and 


76 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


lay  bets,  no  market-town  nearer  than  Hexham,  no  buying  of  horses, 
and  no  other  people  except  ourselves  and  the  hinds  who  tilled  our 
lands.  There  is  certainly  nowhere  in  England  a  place  which  lies  so 
remote  from  human  habitation,  unless  it  be  in  Allendale  or  among 
the  Cheviots,  as  this  old  ruined  Tower  of  Blanchland.  Formerly 
it  was  a  monastery,  but  was  destroyed  very  long  ago,  in  the  reign 
of  the  first  Edward,  by  a  party  of  marauding  Scots,  and  was  never 
afterwards  rebuilt.  They  say  that  the  marauding  Scots,  who  had 
crossed  the  Border  with  sacrilegious  intent  to  sack  this  House  of 
God,  on  account  of  its  reputed  wealth,  had  lost  their  way  upon  the 
moor  in  a  mist,  and  were  returning  homeward  disappointed,  when 
they  heard  the  monastery  bell  ringing  close  at  hand — it  was  to  call 
the  good  monks  together  for  a  Te  Deiim  on  account  of  their  escape 
from  the  enemy  whose  coming  was  looked  for.  Alas  !  the  bell  was 
a  knell,  and  the  Te  Deum  a  funeral  chant,  for  the  ringing  guided 
the  robbers  to  the  spot,  and  they  quickly  broke  through  the  gates, 
murdered  all  the  monks,  set  fire  to  the  buildings,  and  rode  away, 
carrying  their  unhallowed  spoil  with  the  sacred  vessels,  driving  the 
monks'  cattle  before  them,  and  leaving  behind  them  nothing  but 
the  unburied  corpses  of  the  unfortunate  brothers.  Surely  some 
dreadful  vengeance  must  have  overtaken  these  men  ;  but  it  is  so 
long  ago  that  the  memory  of  their  names  as  well  as  their  punish- 
ment has  long  since  perished,  though  that  of  the  crime  has  sur- 
vived. 

Blanchland  lies  along  the  valley  of  the  Derwent  in  a  deep  hollow 
about  the  middle  of  the  great  moor  called  Hexhamshire  Common, 
and  ten  or  eleven  miles  south  of  Hexham  ;  the  stream  is  here  quite 
little  and  shallow,  babbling  over  pebbles  and  under  trees  ;  it  is 
crossed  by  the  stout  old  stone  bridge  built  by  the  monks  themselves, 
who  once  farmed  the  valley.  The  fields  are  now  tilled  by  a  few 
hinds  who  live  about  and  around  the  quadrangle  of  the  old  monas- 
tery still  marked  by  the  ancient  walls,  behind  which  the  rustics  have 
built  their  cottages.  The  place  has  the  aspect  of  an  ancient  and 
decayed  college,  the  quadrangle  having  been  neatly  cobbled,  and  a 
pant  of  clear  water  erected  by  my  great-great-grandfather,  Sir 
Claudius,  who  died  here  in  the  year  1627.  Our  own  dwelling-house 
consisted  of  two  buildings  ;  one,  which  we  used  for  company  and 
visitors,  is  first,  a  great  square  tower  which  stands  over  the  ancient 
gate — Mr.  Hilyard  says  that  the  place  might  easily  have  been  held 
for  weeks  against  simple  moss-troopers — it  has  several  good  rooms 
in  it ;  and  the  second  a  part  of  the  old  monastery,  including  the 
refectory,  a  fair  and  noble  hall,  with  a  large  kitchen  below,  and 
beside  it  a  small  modern  house,  contrived  either  by  Sir  Claudius  or 
some  previous  holder,  within  another  ancient  square  tower.  This 
house,  very  convenient  in  all  respects,  has  a  stone  balcony  on  the 
north  side,  from  where  stone  steps  lead  to  the  green  meadow,  which 
was  once  the  monks'  burying-place.  The  ruins  of  their  chapel,  an 
old  roofless  tower  and  the  walls,  are  standing  in  the  meadow. 
"Within  the  old  chapel  grass  grows  between  tho  flags,  wallflowers 


A  PRINCE  IN  ISRAEL, 


11 


flourish  upon  the  avails  ;  there  is  on  one  of  the  stones  a  figure  and 
an  inscription,  which  Mr.  Hilyard  interpreted  to  be  that  of  a  certain 
man  once  Forester  to  the  Abbey.  But  not  a  monument  or  a  stone 
to  the  memory  of  the  dead  monks.  They  are  gone  and  forgotten — 
names,  and  lives,  and  all — though  their  dust  and  ashes  are  beneath 
the  feet  of  those  who  stand  there.  Bush  and  bramble  grow  round 
the  chapel  and  cover  the  old  graves,  whose  very  mounds  have  now 
disappeared  and  are  level  with  the  turf.  Among  them  rises  an  old 
stone  cross,  put  up  no  one  knows  when.  It  is  truly  a  venerable 
and  ghostly  place.  In  the  twilight  or  moonlight  one  may  see,  or 
think  he  sees,  the  ghosts  of  the  murdered  friars  among  the  ruins. 
In  the  dark  winter  evenings,  the  people  said,  they  could  be  heard, 
when  the  wind  was  high,  chaunting  in  the  chapel  ;  and  every  year, 
on  that  day  when  they  rang  the  fatal  bell  and  so  called  in  the  Scots, 
may  be  heard  at  midnight  the  ringing  of  a  knell.  Many  are  there 
who  can  testify  to  this  miracle  ;  and  at  night  the  venei'able  ghost 
of  the  Abbot  himself  may  be  sometimes  met  upon  the  bridge.  But 
this  may  be  rumour,  for  the  people  of  the  place  are  rude,  having  no 
learning  at  all,  little  religion,  but  great  credulity,  and  prone  to 
believe  all  they  hear.  Certainly  I  have  never  myself  met  the 
Abbot's  ghost,  though  I  have  often  stood  upon  the  bridge  after 
nightfall  alone  or  with  Mr.  Hilyard.  On  the  other  hand,  I  have 
heard,  on  windy  nights,  the  chaunting  of  the  dead  monks  very 
plainly.  While  we  were  there  I  heard  so  many  ghost- stories  that  I 
began  to  suspect  something  wrong,  and  presently  was  not  astonished 
to  find  that  the  number  and  dreadful,  fearful  aspect  of  the  ghosts 
had  greatly  increased  since  we  came  to  the  place,  insomuch  that  for 
years  after  (and  no  doubt  until  now)  the  simple  people  of  the 
village,  if  it  may  be  called  a  village,  were  frightened  out  of  their 
lives  if  they  had  but  to  cross  the  quadrangle  or  fetch  water  at  the 
pant  after  sunset.  The  cause  of  this  terror  was  no  other  than  my 
maid,  Jenny  Lee,  who  saw  these  apparitions.  I  verily  believe  that 
she  invented  her  stories  out  of  pure  mJschief  and  wantonness, 
spreading  abroad  continupJly  tales  of  new  ghosts.  One  day  she  saw 
in  the  graveyard  a  skull  with  fiery  eyes,  v/hich  grinned  at  her. 
Another  evening  she  met  the  Devil  himself  (she  declared  ;  but  his 
honour  and  Miss  Dorothy  must  be  told  nothing  about  it — artful 
creature  !),  with  flames  coming  out  of  his  mouth,  and  a  great  roar- 
ing, sure  to  bring  mischief,  if  only  the  loss  of  a  chicken  or  a  sucking- 
pig,  to  some  one.  Another  time  there  was  a  black  dog,  which 
portended  death.  Had  I  known  of  th-ese  things  at  the  time,  Jenny 
should  soon,  indeed,  have  gone  a-packing.  But  I  did  not  know  till 
later  on,  when  Mr.  Hilyard  inquired  into  the  truth  of  these  stories, 
and  traced  them  all  to  this  girl. 

We  passed  here  a  quiet  time  during  the  spring  and  summer  of 
that  year.  In  the  morning  Tom  went  a- fishing,  or  hunted  the  otter, 
or  went  after  badgers,  or  some  kind  of  vermin,  of  which  there  are 
great  quantities  on  the  moor.  After  dinner  he  commonly  slept. 
After  supper  he  drank  whisky  punch,  and  to  bed  early.    As  for  me, 


78 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


wlien  my  housewife  duties  were  accomplished,  I  talked  with  the 
women-folk,  who  were  simple  and  ignorant,  but  of  good  hearts  ;  or 
walked  up  the  valley  along  the  south  side,  where  there  is  a  high 
sloping  bank,  or  hill — to  my  mind  very  beautiful.  It  is  covered 
with  trees.  By  the  middle  of  June  these  trees  have  put  on  their 
leaves,  and  among  the  leaves  are  the  pink  blossoms  of  the  blue- 
berries and  the  white  flowers  of  the  wild  strawberry,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  wild  flowers  which  clothe  the  place  in  that  month  as  with  a 
carpet.  Even  thus,  in  June,  must  have  looked  the  Grarden  of  Eden. 
In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Hilyard  read  to  me,  and  we  held  converse  in 
low  whispers  while  Tom  slept.  And  on  Sunday  morning  the 
villagers  came  together,  and  Mr.  Hilyard  read  the  service  appointed 
for  the  day.  It  was  in  June  that  Lord  Derwentwater  rode  across 
the  moor  to  visit  us.  We  found  that  the  shyness  which  he  showed 
on  his  first  return  had  gone  altogether,  being  replaced  by  the  most 
charming  courtesy  and  condescension  to  all  ranks.  He  had  also 
begun  to  acquire  the  North-country  manner  of  speech,  and  could 
converse  with  the  common  people.  On  his  progress,  if  so  it  may  be 
called,  he  was  received  everywhere  with  such  joy  that  he  was 
astonished,  having  as  yet  done  nothing  to  deserve  it. 

*  The  gentlemen  of  Northumberland,'  he  declared,  *  are  the  most 
hospitable  in  the  whole  world,  and  the  women  are  the  most  beautiful 
— yes,  Miss  Dorothy,  though  they  are  but  as  the  moon  compared 
with  one  sun  which  I  know.  As  for  the  moors' — he  had  just 
ridden  across  Hexhamshire  Common  from  Allendale  to  Blanchland 
on  his  way  home  to  Dilston — '  as  for  the  moors,  the  air  is  certainly 
the  finest  in  the  world.' 

Then  he  told  us  of  his  travels,  the  people  he  had  met  with,  and 
the  things  he  had  done  and  was  going  to  do.  He  would  enlarge 
Dilston  ;  he  would  rebuild  Langley  ;  he  would  build  a  cottage  on 
the  banks  of  Derwentwater,  where  his  ancestors  once  had  a  great 
house  ;  here  he  would  build  boats,  and  then,  with  his  friends,  would 
float  upon  the  still  waters  among  the  lovely  islands  of  the  lake,  and 
listen  to  the  cooing  of  the  doves  in  the  woods,  or  to  the  melodious 
blowing  of  horns  upon  the  shore.  This,  he  said,  would  be  all  the 
Heaven  he  would  ask  if  I  was  there  to  sit  beside  him  in  his  boat. 
Alas  !  Every  taste  that  most  adorns  the  age  was  possessed  by  this 
young  nobleman,  and  especially  those  truly  princely  tastes  which 
desire  the  erection  of  stately  buildings,  the  gathering  of  friends  to 
enjoy  his  wealth,  and  the  society  of  beautiful  women.  We  ought 
not  to  reproach  men  with  weakness  on  this  score,  seeing  that  all 
the  best  and  noblest  of  mankind — and  chiefly  those — have  loved 
women's  society. 

Among  other  things  that  pleased  him  beside  the  universal  welcome 
which  he  received,  was  that  when  he  went  into  Lancashire — it  is  so 
small  a  trifle  that  it  should  not,  perhaps,  be  mentioned — they  made 
him  Mayor  of  Walton.  One  would  hardly  suppose  that  it  was 
worthy  of  ihe  dignity  of  so  great  a  lord  to  be  pleased  with  so  small 
n  thing.    Yet  he  was,  and,  just  as  Tom  and  his  friends  loved 


A  PRINCE  IN  ISRAEL, 


79 


drink  and  laugh,  and  Mr.  Hilyard  (but  of  an  evening  only)  to  sing 
and  act,  and  play  the  buffoon,  so  Lord  Derwentwater  himself  was 
not  free  from  what  we  may  call,  without  irreverence,  a  besetting 
infirmity  of  his  sex,  and  a  blemish  upon  the  character  of  many 
great  men — I  mean  this  love  of  tomfooling.  Now,  the  Corporation 
of  Walton  is  nothing  in  the  world  but  a  club  of  gentlemen  held  in 
a  village  of  that  name  near  Preston.  Every  member  of  the  Clu?« 
held  an  ofi&ce.  The  Mayor  has  a  Deputy,  to  take  the  chair  in  his 
absence.  There  are  also  in  this  foolish  society  a  Recorder,  two 
Bailiffs,  two  Serjeants,  a  Physician,  a  Mace-bearer,  a  Poet  Laureate, 
?  nd  a  J  ester. 

This  burlesque  of  serious  institutions  appeared  to  Lord  Derwent- 
water, and  no  doubt  to  the  other  members  of  the  Club,  a  most 
humourous  stroke  ;  he  laughed  continually  over  their  doings  and 
sayings  with  Tom  ;  and,  in  fact,  so  tickled  him  with  the  thing,  that 
the  very  next  year  he  took  the  journey  with  the  Earl  to  Preston, 
and  there  was  elected  into  the  Club,  and  honoured  with  the  office 
of  Serjeant,  while  Mr.  Hilyard,  always  to  the  front  where  fooling 
and  play-acting  were  concerned,  was  made  at  once  both  Poet 
Laureate  and  Jester,  which  offices  were  happily  vacant  for  him. 
It  is  said  that  the  verses  he  wrote,  the  jests  he  made,  and  the  songs 
he  sung,  were  worthy  of  being  added  to  Mr.  Brown's  'Miscellaneous 
Works,'  or  Mr.  D'Urf  ey's  '  Pills  to  Purge  Melancholy ;'  but,  un- 
fortunately, the  records  of  the  Society  perished  in  the  disasters  of 
the  year  1715,  and  with  them  Mr.  Hilyard's  verses. 

One  may  easily  excuse  this  levity  in  Lord  Derwentwater,  when 
one  remembers  that  he  and  all  his  companions  were  as  yet  in  their 
earliest  manhood,  before  the  vivacity  of  youth  has  vanished.  Tom, 
the  eldest,  was  but  six-and-twenty  ;  Lord  Derwentwater  himself, 
the  youngest,  only  twenty-one  ;  all  of  them  honest  country  gentle- 
men and  their  younger  brothers,  and  none,  as  yet,  sated  with  the 
pleasures  of  the  wicked  town.  How  were  the  younger  sons,  for 
instance,  to  find  money  for  the  pleasures  of  town?  I  cannot 
pretend  that  all  these  young  gentlemen  were  virtuous,  or,  in  all 
their  amusements,  innocent ;  certainly,  a  good  many  of  them  were 
frequently  drunk.  But  still  they  were  all  young,  and  one  feels  that 
a  young  man  may  sin  out  of  mere  youthful  joy,  and  then  repent ; 
while  an  old  man,  if  he  sins  it  is  hardness  of  heart.  And,  being 
young,  they  were  full  of  spirits. 

'  Solomon,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  teaches  that  a  merry  heart  doeth 
good  like  medicine.  Also  he  reminds  us  that  a  merry  head  maketh 
a  cheerful  countenance,  and,  further,  that  he  who  is  of  a  merry 
heart  hath  a  continual  feast.  Wherefore,  Miss  Dorothy,  let  not 
this  laughter  of  his  honour,  my  patron,  and  Lord  Derwentwater 
trouble  you.' 

Why,  it  could  not  trouble  one  if  the  causes  of  their  mirth  could 
have  been  understood.  But  it  is  of  no  use  to  talk  of  these  things. 
Women  sit  with  quiet  faces,  though  their  hearts  are  glad  ;  but  men 
must  needs  be  laughing.   Besides,  Solomon  has  said  £0  much  about 


8o 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


fools  and  their  mirth  as  to  make  one  afraid,  lest,  by  laughing  over- 
much, one  may  be  confounded  with  these  fools. 

Then  began  my  lord  to  come  often  to  Blanchland,  and  I  to  enjoy 
the  most  happy  six  months  of  my  life.  Only  six  months  !  Yet, 
all  that  went  before  and  all  that  came  after  are  to  be  counted  as 
nothing  compared  with  that  brief  period  of  happiness.  He  would 
come  over  in  the  morning,  when  Tom  was  abroad,  and  hold  conver- 
sation with  me,  either  walking  or  in  the  old  refectory  where  we 
sat.  We  talked  of  many  things  which  I  have  not  forgotten,  but 
cannot  write  down  all  I  remember.  Sometimes  Mr.  Hilyard  was 
with  us,  and  sometimes  we  were  alone.  "We  conversed  upon  high 
and  lofty  themes,  as  well  as  on  little  things  of  the  moment.  Once, 
walking  among  the  ruins  of  the  monks'  chapel,  I  had  the  temerity — 
or  perhaps  the  ill'^breeding — to  venture  on  asking  him  how  it  came 
about  that  a  man  of  his  knowledge  and  penetration  could  continue 
in  the  fold  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 

He  was  not  angry  at  the  question,  as  might  be  expected  (which 
shows  his  goodness  of  heart),  but  laughed  and  said  that  he  remained 
a  Catholic  because  no  one  had  yet  succeeded  in  converting  the  Pope. 

'  Fair  Doctor  of  Divinity,'  he  added  ;  '  do  not  tempt  me.  There 
is  nothing  I  would  not  willingly  do  for  the  sake  of  your  beaux 
yeux  ;  but  ask  not  a  thing  which  touches  my  honour.  Loyalty  I 
owe  to  my  Church  as  much  as  to  my  King.  My  cousin  Dorothy 
would  not  surely  advise  a  Radcliffe  against  his  honour.' 

This  question  of  his  religion  dwelt  in  my  lord's  mind,  and  he 
returned  to  it  on  another  occasion,  saying  very  seriously  that 
Protestants  were  unhappy  in  knowing  none  of  the  rcDose  and  ease 
of  soul  which  belong  to  those  who  hold  what  he  called  the  True 
Faith. 

'  For,'  he  said,  *  either  they  are  perplexed  by  doubts  and  always 
drifting  into  new  heresies,  or  they  are  painfully  striving,  each  for 
himself,  and  unaided,  to  attain  his  own  safety,  or  they  are  guided 
by  one  or  other  of  the  heretic  doctors  to  their  irreparable  loss  ; 
whereas  we,'  he  added,  '  live  free  from  doubts.  The  Church  hath 
settled  all  doubts  long  ago  ;  she  orders,  and  we  obey  ;  she  teaches, 
and  we  believe  ;  we  have  no  reason  for  proving  anything  ;  we  live 
without  fear,  and  when  at  length  we  die,'  he  took  off  his  hat,  *  we 
are  fortified  by  the  last  consolations  and  tender  offices  of  the 
Church,  and  borne  away  by  ministering  angels,  some  to  Heaven, 
but  of  these  not  many ;  the  rest  to  the  expiating  fires  of  Purgatory. 
Fair  cousin,  I  would  that  you,  too,  were  in  this  fold  with  me  !' 

I  was  silenced,  for  the  grave  eyes  and  earnest  voice  of  his  lord- 
ship awed  my  soul.  I  knew  not,  indeed,  what  to  answer  until  I 
consulted  with  Mr.  Hilyard.  In  thinking  over  what  my  lord  had 
said,  his  picture  of  faith  seemed  fair  indeed. 

*Why,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  when  I  spoke  of  it  to  him,  *that  is 
true  enough  ;  but.  Miss  Dorothy,  remember  that  you,  too,  have  a 
Church  which  teaches,  orders,  and  consoles.  Where  are  the  doubts 
of  which  his  lordship  speaks  ?    I  know  of  none,  for  my  own  part ; 


A  PRINCE  IN  ISRAEL. 


8i 


nor  do  yon.  And  for  us,  as  well  as  the  Papists,  surely  there  are 
the  Sacraments  of  the  Church,  without  the  fires  of  Purgatory.' 

Thus  easily  is  a  Papist  answered  by  a  man  of  learning. 

But  to  Lord  Derwentwater  I  only  made  reply,  meekly,  that  I  was 
an  ignorant  girl,  and  presumptuous  in  speaking  of  such  things  ; 
whereas,  if  he  would  take  counsel  with  Lord  Crewe  or  with  Mr. 
Hilyard — but  upon  this  he  fell  a-laughing. 

'  What,  cousin,'  he  said,  '  would  you  have  me  take  the  opinion  of 
a  jester,  paid  to  make  meniment  for  his  master,  and  a  singer  of 
bacchanalian  and  dissolute  songs  for  a  company  of  drunken  revellers  ? 
Nay,  Miss  Dorothy  ;  I  know  that  he  is  thy  friend,  and  I  speak  not 
to  make  thee  angry  ;  and,  in  sober  moments,  I  confess  that  I  have 
found  him  a  person  of  learning  and  wisdom.  But  in  things  spiritual 
— think  of  it  !  As  for  Lord  Crewe,  I  have  heard  that  he  is  an  ex- 
cellent statesman,  venerable  for  rank  and  years,  and  most  benevolent 
in  character  ;  but  I  have  never  heard  that  he  is  a  great  theologian, 
or  to  be  named  in  the  same  breath  as  the  Fathers  of  the  Church. 
And  if  he  were,  I  have  not  myself  the  learning  or  the  wit  to 
examine  and  prove  the  very  foundation  of  religion,  or  to  be  sure  of 
getting  a  new  faith  if  I  cast  away  my  present  one,  or  finding  belief 
through  disbelief,  or  to  hope  for  greater  ease  than  at  present  I 
enjoy.' 

So  no  more  was  said  at  the  time  between  them  of  Popery  or 
matters  of  religion  ;  as  for  matters  political,  naturally  there  was 
much  talk,  especially  when  letters  and  papers  arrived  from  London 
with  intelligence.  The  affairs  of  the  French  King  were  going 
badly  ;  as  Englishmen  we  could  not  but  rejoice,  therefore.  Yet  the 
hopes  of  the  Prince,  so  far  as  they  rested  on  France,  were  decaying 
fast,  wherefore  we  must  be  sorry  ;  yet  again,  as  if  to  put  us  in 
heart,  it  was  reported  that  London  was  growing  daily  more  favour- 
able to  the  lawful  Sovereign. 

*  What  London  is,  my  lord,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  ever  anxious  to 
glorify  his  native  town,  'that  is  the  country.  London  deserted 
Richard  II.,  and  he  fell  ;  London  joined  Edward  IV.,  and  the  Lan- 
castrians' cause  was  lost ;  it  was  London  which  deposed  King 
Charles  and  sent  King  James  a-pacldng.  Yet  the  passions  of  the 
mob  are  fickle  ;  we  know  them  not.  To-day  they  bawl  for  the 
Chevalier  ;  to-morrow  they  will  throw  up  their  caps  for  the  Pro- 
testant religion,  and  will  plunder  a  Catholic  Ambassador's  house. 
It  hath  been  well  observed  that  the  mob  is  like  Tiberius,  who,  to 
one  beginning,  "You  remember,  Caesar?"  replied,  "Nay;  I  do  not 
remember  what  I  was." ' 

'  We  are  a  long  way  from  Caesar,'  said  the  Earl.  '  Let  us,  however, 
have  no  secret  conspiracies  and  dark  plots.  There  have  been  too 
many  such  already.  It  is  not  by  treason  that  we  shall  bring  back 
the  King  ;  but  by  the  voice  of  the  people.  Never  shall  it  be  said 
that  I,  for  one,  dragged  men  from  their  homes  to  fight  for  their 
Prince,  unless  it  was  first  made  clear  that  the  country  was  wholly 
for  him/ 

6 


83 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


*  If  London  speaks,  the  nation  will  follow,'  Mr.  Hilyard  repeated, 

*  "When  the  country  gentry  agree  to  rise,'  said  Tom,  '  the  thing  is 
as  good  as  done.' 

'  Then  let  nothing  be  done,'  Lord  Derwentwater  added,  *  till  the 
voice  of  the  country  is  certain,  and  the  gentlemen  of  the  country 
can  be  depended  upon.  As  for  French  bayonets,  we  want  none  of 
them.  And  for  premature  risings,  let  us  countenance  none  of  them, 
nor  have  to  do  with  those  who  would  bring  them  about.  Say  I 
well,  Tom  Forster?' 

'  Excellently  well,  my  lord,'  Tom  replied  ;  though  he  was  already, 
I  now  believe,  in  some  kind  of  correspondence  with  those  arch- 
conspirators,  Dick  Gascoigne  and  Captain  Talbot.  But  let  these 
words  be  remembered,  because  in  the  sequel  it  will  be  seen  that 
they  fell  into  Tom's  heart  and  remained  there,  bringing  forth  fruit. 

The  summer  passed  away  with  such  discourse.  The  hunting-party 
was  fixed  for  October  the  30th.  Mr.  Hilyard,  following  her  ladyship's 
instructions,  designed  to  make  it  a  small  and  private  party  ;  but 
when  it  was  known  that  the  illustrious  Lord  Crewe,  with  his  wife, 
would  be  present,  there  came  so  many  promises  of  attendance,  that 
order  had  to  be  taken  for  a  very  great  quantity  of  provisions,  the 
arrangement  for  which  cost  myself  and  Jenny  Lee  many  a  long 
day's  work.  On  the  29th,  the  Bishop  and  Lady  Crewe  rode  from 
Bishop's  Auckland,  a  distance  of  twenty  miles,  over  rough  country 
ways — a  long  ride  for  a  man  between  seventy  and  eighty  years  of 
age.  When  we  heard  that  they  were  visible  from  the  hill,  Tom 
and  I  went  forth  to  meet  them,  and  led  them  from  thje  bridge  to 
the  porch. 

When  Lady  Crewe,  whom  then  I  saw  for  the  first  time  since  a 
little  child,  dismounted,  I  perceived,  though  she  was  wrapped  in  a 
great  thick  hood  covering  her  from  head  to  foot,  that  she  had  brown 
curling  hair  like  my  own,  and  dark  brown  eyes  of  a  singular  bright- 
ness, which  my  own  also  somewhat  resembled,  and  that  she  was  of 
the  same  height,  though  stouter,  then  being  about  the  age  of  forty. 

'So,'  she  said  to  Tom,  'thou  art  my  nephew  and  my  coheir. 
Kiss  my  cheek,  Tom.    We  shall  have  a  great  deal  to  say.' 

Then  Tom  assisted  the  Bishop  to  dismount. 

'Welcome,  my  lord,'  he  said,  'to  your  own  house  and  Manor  of 
Blanchland.' 

'  As  for  its  being  mine  own,  Xephew  Forster,'  said  his  lordship, 
'  thou  must  ask  thy  aunt.  She  will  not  willingly  let  Bamborough 
and  Blanchland  go  to  a  Crewe.' 

Then  we  led  them  within,  and  I  received  my  aunt's  gloves  and 
muif,  after  kindly  greetings  from  her  ;  but  I  observed  that  her 
eyes  followed  Tom. 

I  would  have  knelt  to  the  Bishop  for  his  blessing,  but  he  raised 
me,  saying  kindly  : 

'Let  me  see  thy  face.  Miss  Dorothy  the  younger.  Why — so — 
there  are  Forsters  still,  I  see.  Wife,  here  is  the  living  picture  of  a 
certain  maid  with  whom  I  fell  in  love  twenty  years  ago.    Thou  art 


A  PRINCE  IN  ISRAEL. 


83 


not  so  beautiful  in  my  eyes,  child,  as  thy  aunt ;  but  I  doubt  not 
there  are  plenty  who  ' 

*He  hath  the  face  of  Ferdinando,'  cried  my  aunt,  speaking  of 
Tom,  '  and  the  voice  of  poor  Will.  But  perhaps  most  he  favours 
my  father.  Sir  William.' 

'She  is  very  like  all  these,  my  dear,'  said  Lord  Crewe,  looking 
earnestly  at  me.  '  Child,  when  I  look  upon  thy  face  I  see  my  own 
Dorothy  again,  in  her  first  beauty.  Yet  she  is  always  the  most 
beautiful  woman  in  the  world  to  me.  And  every  age  with  her  will 
bring  its  own  charm.' 

'  He  has  the  manner  of  my  own  branch,  not  the  Etherston 
Forsters,'  my  lady  continued.  'Tom,  you  must  come  with  me  to 
London  before  you  go  into  the  House.  I  shall  present  you  to  Lady 
Cowper,  our  cousin'  (she  was  a  Clavering).  'She  is  a  rank  Whig, 
but  a  woman  of  fashion  and,  what  is  better,  of  sense  and  virtue. 
Sense  and  virtue  go  together,  Dorothy,  child,  though  some  people 
will  have  it  otherwise.' 

Lord  Crewe  bestowed  upon  Tom  a  passing  glance,  which  showed 
me  that  he  was  less  interested  than  his  wife  in  the  male  Forsters. 

'  My  dear,'  he  said,  '  if  your  nephew  is  wise  he  will  ask  for  the 
society  of  no  other  woman  than  yourself  while  he  is  in  London.' 

Lord  Crewe  loved  his  wife  so  fondly  that  these  compliments 
were  but  expressions  of  his  tenderness.  Most  old  men  dote  on 
their  young  wives  :  not  so  Lord  Crewe.  His  passion,  old  as  he  was, 
was  that  of  strong  manhood,  a  steady  and  ardent  flame  which 
every  woman  should  desire,  one  which  causes  the  care  and  thought- 
fulness  of  the  lover  to  remain  long  after  the  honeymoon,  and, 
indeed,  throughout  the  earthly  course.  Never  was  there  any  example 
more  truly  illustrating  the  virtue  and  happiness  of  conjugal  love 
than  that  of  Lord  Crewe  and  his  wife. 

When  she  had  removed  her  travelling  attire,  and  appeared,  her 
hair  dressed  in  a  fontange  with  Colberteen  lace,  her  silk  dres^  looped 
to  show  the  rich  petticoat  beneath,  the  lace  upon  her  sleeve,  her 
gold  chain,  and,  above  all,  the  surpassing  dignity  of  her  carriage 
and  beauty  of  her  face  (though  now  in  her  fortieth  year),  I  owned 
to  myself  that  I  had  never  before  seen  a  lady  so  stately  or  so  truly 
handsome,  or  so  completely  becoming  her  exalted  rank  as  the  wife 
either  of  an  English  bishop  or  an  English  baron. 

'  What  are  thy  thoughts,  child  ?'  she  asked,  smiling,  because  I  am 
sure  she  knew  very  well  what  they  were. 

'  Madam,'  I  replied,  with  respect,  '  I  was  but  thinking  how  the 
people  everywhere,  not  only  the  gentlefolk  but  the  common  folk, 
and  not  only  at  Bamborough,  but  here  and  at  Alnwick  and  every- 
where, speak  still  of  the  beautiful  Dorothy  Forster — and  that  now 
I  know  at  length  what  they  mean.' 

'  Tut,  tut !'  she  replied,  but  she  laughed  and  blushed — she  had 
still  the  fairest  complexion  ever  seen,  and  the  clearest  skin  (for  the 
sake  of  her  complexion  she  would  never  drink  beer,  and  washed  in 
cold  water  all  the  year  round),  and  a  colour,  white  and  red,  which 

6—2 


84 


DOROTHY  FOSTER. 


came  and  went  like  a  girl's  ;  her  teeth  were  of  a  pearly  white — 
women  of  forty  are  sometimes  lamentable  to  look  upon,  so  bad  have 
their  teeth  become — with  a  mouth  and  rosy  lips  which  seemed  still 
young ;  her  face  was  round  rather  than  oval ;  her  eyes  were  large  and 
dark  brown,  as  I  have  said  ;  her  hair  was  piled  in  a  low  tower,  and 
covered  with  laces  ;  her  sloping  shoulders  were  also  half -hidden  by 
a  lace  mantle,  and  she  had  the  most  dainty  figure  ever  seen.  Truly 
a  Juno  among  women,  who  had  been  the  chief  of  the  Graces  in  her 
youth. 

'  Tut,  tut !'  she  replied,  tapping  my  cheek  with  her  fan,  but  yet 
well  pleased.  '  Silly  child  !  Beauty  is  but  for  a  day.  We  women 
have  our  little  summer  of  good  looks.  A  few  years  and  it  is  over. 
I  am  an  old  woman  now.  But  you,  my  dear,  may  look  into  the 
glass  and  see  there  what  your  aunt  was  like  when  she,  like  you,  was 
irineteen  years  of  age.' 

Then  we  sat  down  to  supper,  Mr.  Hilyard  being  first  presented. 
He  would  have  absented  himself  altogether,  being  modest  and  much 
afraid  of  the  Lord  Bishop  ;  but  my  lady  asked  for  him,  and  was 
good  enough  to  insist  upon  his  presence.  Conversation  was  grave 
and  serious,,  chiefly  sustained  by  the  Bishop,  Mr.  Hilyard  saying 
never  a  word,  but  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  table,  and  mightily  re- 
lieved when  at  nine  his  lordship  begged  to  be  excused,  on  the  ground 
that  they  had  travelled  far,  and  that  now  he  was  old  and  must  to 
bed  betimes. 

'  You  have  put  us  in  the  haunted  chamber,  Dorothy,'  said  Lady 
Crewe.  '  It  was  there  that  Sir  Claudius  died.  When  I  was  a  child, 
I  looked  every  day  after  dark  for  his  ghost.  But  it  never  came. 
Yes,  Blanchland  is  a  strange,  ghostly  place.  The  people  used  to 
speak  of  terrible  things.' 

The  Bishop  gave  her  his  hand. 

'  Come,  my  dear,'  he  said.  *  I  engage  to  drive  away  any  ghosts 
that  come  to  disturb  your  sleep.' 

Nathaniel,  Lord  Crewe,  of  Stene,  in  Northamptonshire,  and  Bishop 
of  Durham,  was  at  this  time  seventy-seven  years  of  age,  which  we 
lightly  consider  a  very  great  age  indeed.  There  were  in  him,  how- 
ever, none  of  the  infirmities  of  age  ;  his  walk  was  as  firm,  his  eye 
was  as  clear,  his  voice  as  vigorous,  his  seat  on  norseback  as  steady, 
as  in  most  men  at  fifty.  In  appearance  he  was  most  singular.  For 
he  wore  his  own  hair,  and  not  a  wig  ;  this  was  long,  and  abundant, 
and  perfectly  white  ;  on  his  upper  lip  was  a  small  whisker  or 
moustache  ;  he  always  had  upon  his  head  a  little  velvet  cap  ;  he  was, 
in  person,  tall  and  spare  ;  in  his  carriage,  he  stooped  somewhat,  a 
fine,  scholarlj^  habit,  as  caused  by  much  reading  and  meditation  ; 
his  eyes  were  black  and  piercing  ;  his  nose  was  straight  and  clear  ; 
his  lips  were  set  firm  ;  and  his  chin  was  long  and  pointed.  Those 
who  have  seen  the  portrait  of  Charles  I.,  may  be  informed  that 
Lord  Crewe's  face  somewhat  resembled  that  of  the  sainted  monarch. 

He  was  a  younger  son  of  Lord  Crewe,  of  Stene,  in  Northampton- 
shire, but,  by  the  death  of  his  elder  brothers,  he  succeeded,  in  his 


A  PRINCE  IN  ISRAEL. 


85 


Hftieth  year,  to  the  title.  He  was,  in  early  life,  a  distinguished 
scholar  of  Lincoln  College,  Oxford,  and  was  elected  a  Fellow  of 
that  venerable  Foundation  during  the  Protectorate,  but  declared  for 
Crown  and  Hierarchy  in  1660.  He  was  made  Rector  of  his  College, 
Dean  of  Chichester,  and  Clerk  of  the  Closet  to  King  Charles  II. 
In  the  year  1671,  he  was  consecrated  Bishop  of  Oxford,  and  two 
years  later  was  translated  to  the  See  of  Durham,  which  he  held  for 
fifty  years,  the  longest  episcopate,  I  believe,  in  the  history  of  the 
Chuixh  of  England. 

No  one  is  ignorant  that  this  prelate  incurred  great  odium  during 
the  reign  of  King  James  II.  for  his  support  of  that  monarch's 
measures.  I  am  not  obliged  to  defend  or  to  accuse  his  action  while 
he  was  on  the  Ecclesiastical  Commission  ;  and  to  those  who  charge 
him  with  the  prosecution  of  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  of  the  Vice- 
chancellor  of  Cambridge,  with  his  famous  offer  to  attend  publicly 
the  entry  of  the  Pope's  Nuncio  into  London,  and  with  his  conduct 
in  the  case  of  Magdalen  College,  Oxford,  the  writer  has  nothing  at 
all  to  say,  because  she  is  a  simple  woman,  and  these  things  are  too 
high  for  her.  It  is  true  that  in  1 688  he  was  exempted  from  pardon, 
and  had  to  take  flight  across  the  seas  ;  yet,  which  shows  that  his 
enemies  had  nothing  they  could  bring  home  to  him,  he  presently 
came  back  and  remained  unmolested  until  his  death — that  is  to  say, 
for  five-and-twenty  years.  He  was  so  good  a  man,  and  of  so  truly 
kind  a  heart,  that  one  cannot  believe  he  ever  did  or  said  a  wrong 
thing.  Certainly  he  never  changed  his  principles,  upholding  Divine 
Right  and  the  lawful  succession  of  the  Stuarts,  and  making  no 
secret  of  his  doctrines.  As  becomes  a  bishop,  however,  he  took  no 
active  share  in  the  affairs  of  the  party,  except  in  this  very  year  of 
grace,  namely  1710,  when  he  opposed  the  prosecution  of  Dr. 
Sacheverell.  And  his  last  words  to  his  chaplain  when  he  died,  full 
of  years,  in  1722,  were,  *  Remember,  Dick,  never  go  over  to  the 
other  side.' 

As  for  his  wealth,  he  possessed,  as  Lord  Crewe,  his  estates  and 
the  ancestral  seat  of  Stene,  with  other  manors  and  houses,  in 
Northamptonshire.  As  Lord  Bishop  of  Durham,  he  enjoyed  the 
revenues  and  the  powers  of  a  Prince  Palatine,  with  six  splendid 
castles,  including  Durham,  Auckland,  and  Norham,  and  eight  great 
houses.  He  mostly  kept  his  Court  (for  truly  it  was  little  less)  at 
Durham,  where  he  entertained  ui  the  year  1677  the  unfortunate 
Duke  of  Monmouth,  on  his  way  to  the  north.  A  magnificent  pre- 
late, indeed  ;  with  the  courage  to  declare  and  uphold  his  opinions  ; 
splendid  in  his  carriage,  his  language,  his  dress,  and  in  the  liveries 
of  his  servants ;  one  who  ruled  himself,  his  household,  and  his 
diocese  with  a  firm  hand ;  who  spent  freely,  yet  administered 
prudently  ;  was  affable  to  all  except  to  those  who  would  dispute 
his  authority  or  his  rank. 
^  *  And  now,  Tony,'  said  Tom,  when  they  were  gone,  '  we  cannot 
sing  with  a  bishop  in  the  house  ;  but  we  can  drink.  The  lemons, 
brave  boy,  and  the  whisky.    Methinks  her  ladyship  means  well.' 


86 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


*  So  well,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  ^  that  your  honour  hath  but  to  defer 
to  her  opinions,  and  your  fortunes  will  be  higher  even  than  I  looked 
for.  As  for  myself,'  here  he  sighed,  and  looked  miserable  for  the 
space  of  three  and  a  half  rummers  of  punch,  when  he  cheered  up, 
and  said  that  if  starvation  was  before  him,  all  the  more  reason  for 
enjoying  the  present  moment,  and  that  of  all  the  choice  gifts  of 
Heaven,  that  of  whisky  punch  was  certainly  the  one  for  which 
mankind  should  be  most  grateful.  While  he  discoursed  upon  its 
merits  I  left  them,  and  to  bed. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

A   HUNTING  PARTY. 

It  has  been  pretended  that  the  party  of  this  day  was  one  of  the 
earliest  attempts  made  by  Mr.  Forster  the  younger  towards  making 
himself  the  leader  of  the  cause  in  the  north.  On  the  contrary,  he 
had  as  yet  no  thought  at  all  about  leading.  The  gentlemen  came 
together  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  meet  the  Bishop  (many  of 
them  being  Catholics,  who  could  only  see  him  on  some  such  occa- 
sion) and  Lord  Derwentwater,  and  the  meeting  was  especially 
summoned  to  enable  these  two  to  meet  one  another.  Among  those 
who  came  to  the  meeting  were  many  of  the  gentlemen  who  five 
years  afterwards,  to  their  undoing,  took  up  arms  for  the  Prince. 
Most  of  them  lay  at  Hexham  overnight,  and  came  over  the  moor  in 
the  morning.  It  was  a  gallant  sight,  indeed,  to  see  the  gentlemen 
riding  into  the  quadrangle,  and  giving  their  horses  to  the  grooms, 
while  they  paid  their  respects  to  Lady  Crewe,  who  was  already 
dressed,  early  as  it  was,  and  received  them  with  a  kindly  welcome 
which  pleased  all.  The  Bishop,  she  said,  begged  to  be  excused  at 
that  early  hour  ;  he  would  meet  his  friends  in  the  evening.  Mean- 
time, breakfast,  or  luncheon,  was  spread,  with  cold  pasties,  spiced 
beef,  game,  and  beer  for  all  who  chose. 

They  were  a  hearty  and  hungry  crew.  One  cannot  but  re- 
member with  what  good- will  they  trooped  in,  and  how  they  made 
the  sirloins  of  beef  to  grow  small,  the  pasties  to  vanish,  and  the 
birds  to  disappear — except  their  bones  ;  also  with  what  cheerfulness 
they  exhorted  each  other  to  fill  up  and  drink  again.  They  had  a 
day's  hunting  before  them.  Surely  a  man  may  eat  and  drink  who 
is  going  out  for  six  or  eight  hours  a-horseback  across  Hexhamshire 
Common.  It  was  a  pretty  sight,  certainly,  when  they  had  finished, 
to  see  them  mount  in  the  great  quadrangle,  with  the  shouting  of  the 
younger  men — ah  !  King  Solomon's  medicine  of  the  merry  heart ! 
— and  so  off,  trooping  through  the  old  gateway  out  upon  the  open 
moor,  whither  the  huntsman  had  taken  the  hounds.  I,  who  seldom 
rode,  went  with  them  on  this  day.  Beside  me  rode  Lord  Derwent- 
water, brave  in  scarlet,  as  were  his  brothers.  But  he  was  grave,  and 
even  sad. 

'  I  cannot  but  think,  Miss  Dorothy,'  he  said,  *  that  it  is  a  strange 


A  HUNTING  PARTY. 


87 


thing  for  us  to  laugh  and  shout  Trhile  our  business  is  to  talk  of 
treason,  according  to  the  law  of  the  land.  When  will  treason 
become  loyalty,  and  rebellion  fidelity  to  the  King  ?' 

Then  there  arose  a  great  yo-hoing  and  shouting,  and  the  fox  was 
found,  and  we  all  rode  after  it.  About  that  day's  hunting  it  needs 
not  to  speak  much.  It  was  a  long  run.  Tom,  with  Charlie  Radcliffe, 
was  in  at  the  death,  and  they  gave  me  the  creature's  brush.  As  for 
Lord  Derwentwater,  he  left  not  my  side,  being  more  concerned  to 
talk  with  me  than  to  gallop  after  the  hounds.  Certainly  he  never 
was  a  keen  fox-hunter,  his  ideas  of  the  hunt  being  taken  from 
France,  where,  as  he  hath  told  me,  the  party  ride  down  lanes  or 
allees^  in  a  great  forest,  after  a  wild  boar  or  a  stag,  the  sides  of  the 
lanes  being  lined  with  rustics,  to  prevent  the  boar  from  taking 
shelter  in  the  wood.  But  he  owned  that  our  sport  was  more  manly. 
This  was  a  pleasant,  nay,  a  delightful  ride  for  me,  seeing  as  I  did  in 
the  eyes  of  his  lordship  those  signs  of  admiration  v^hich  please  the 
hearts  of  all  women  alike,  whether  they  be  confident  in  their  beauty 
or  afraid  that  they  possess  no  charms  to  fix  the  affections  of  in- 
constant man.  Perhaps  we  guess  very  readily  what  most  we  desire. 
At  this  time  (let  me  confess  and  own  without  shame  what  need  not 
be  concealed)  I  had  begun  to  desire  one  thing  very  much  ;  that  is 
to  say,  I  understood  very  well  that  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world 
would  be  she  to  whom  this  young  gentleman  would  give  the  price- 
less blessing  of  his  love.  This  made  me  watchful  of  his  speech  and 
looks  ;  and  enabled  me,  young  and  inexperienced  as  I  was,  to  read 
very  well  the  confession  made  by  eyes  full  of  admiration,  though 
no  word  at  all  was  spoken.  No  gentleman  in  the  world  had  better 
eyes  or  sweeter  than  Lord  Derwentwater,  and  no  man's  love,  I  knew 
very  well,  was  more  to  be  desired  ;  and,  innocent  and  ignorant  as 
we  were,  neither  of  us,  at  that  time,  considered  the  difficulties  in 
the  way.    Poor  Dorothy  ! 

Some  of  the  elder  gentlemen  remained  behind,  and  sat  all  the 
morning  to  talk  with  Lady  Crewe,  once  their  toast  and  charming 
beauty,  still  beautiful  and  gracious,  as  a  great  lady  should  be.  Every 
woman  likes,  I  suppose,  to  feel  that  men  remember  the  beauty  of 
her  youth.  It  is  a  fleeting  thing,  and  we  are  told  that,  like  all 
earthly  things,  it  is  a  vanity.  Nevertheless,  it  is  a  vanity  which 
pleases  for  a  lifetime,  and,  like  understanding  in  a  man,  it  may  be 
used,  while  it  lasts,  for  great  purposes.  Lady  Crewe  knew  well 
how  to  use  her  beauty  and  charm  of  words  as  well  as  of  face,  in 
order  to  lead  men  whithersoever  she  would.  This  is  a  simple  art, 
though  few  women  understand  it,  being  nothing  more  or  less  than 
to  make  each  man  think  the  thing  which  he  most  desires  to  believe 
true,  namely,  that  he  occupies  wholly  the  thoughts,  hopes,  interest, 
and  sympathy  of  the  woman  who  would  lure  him  and  lead  him. 

'  It  is  not  love,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard  once,  *  so  much  as  vanity,  which 
leads  the  world.  Dalila  conquered  Samson  by  playing  upon  his 
pride  of  strength.  Cleopatra  overcame  Antony  by  acknowledging 
the  irresistible  charm  of  a  hero.' 


88 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


So  Lady  Crewe,  by  coaxing,  flattering,  making  men  feel  happy 
and  proud  of  themselves  (since  they  would  please  so  great  and 
gracious  a  lady),  in  a  word,  by  charming  men,  could  do  with  them 
what  she  pleased.  Of  course,  it  need  not  be  said  that  there  could  be 
no  question  of  gallantry  with  this  stately  dame,  the  wife  of  the 
great  Lord  Crewe.    Certainly  not  ;  j^i  all  men  were  her  slaves. 

Some  time  between  ten  and  eleven  in  the  forenoon,  the  party 
being  all  ridden  forth,  my  lord  the  Bishop  came  out  from  his 
chamber,  dressed  and  ready  for  the  duties  of  the  day.  At  so 
advanced  a  stage  of  life,  one  must,  I  suppose,  approach  each  day, 
which  may  be  the  last,  slowly  and  carefully,  fortified  before  the 
work  of  the  day  begins  with  food,  prayer,  and  meditation.  His 
lordship  looked  older  in  the  morning  than  in  the  evening  ;  yet  not 
decayed.  Though  the  lines  and  crow's-feet  of  age  lay  thickly  upon 
his  face,  so  that  it  was  seamed  and  scarred  by  a  thousand  waving 
lines,  his  eye  was  as  bright  and  his  lips  as  firm  as  if  he  were  but 
forty  or  fifty.  After  a  little  discourse  with  the  gentlemen  who  had 
remained  behind,  he  sent  immediately  for  Mr.  Hilyard.  He,  to  say 
the  truth,  was  by  no  means  anxious  for  the  interview,  and  had 
shown,  ever  since  this  party  was  proposed,  a  singular  desire  to 
avoid  the  Bishop  ;  proposing  a  hundred  different  pretexts  for  his 
absence. 

First,  his  lordship,  with  great  show  of  politeness,  of  which  he 
was  perfect  master,  begged  Mr.  Hilyard  to  show  him  the  ruins  and 
remains  of  this  strange  place,  which  our  steward  very  willingly  did, 
hoping,  as  will  be  seen,  to  stave  off  the  questions  which  he  feared. 
Presently,  after  talk  about  the  Premonstratensian  Friars  (this  was 
the  learned  name  of  the  monks  who  were  murdered,  but  why  they 
had  so  long  a  name,  or  what  it  means,  I  know  not,  nor  .need  w^e 
inquire  into  the  superstitious  reasons  for  such  a  name),  and  after 
considering  the  quadrangle  and  the  ancient  Gate  Tower,  they  turned 
^into  the  graveyard,  where  were  the  ruins  of  the  chapel.  Here  they 
talked  of  Gothic  architecture,  a  subject  on  which,  as  on  so  many 
other  things,  Mr.  Hilyard  was  well  versed  ;  and  the  Bishop,  after 
lamenting  the  ruin  of  so  beautiful  a  place,  said  that  he  could  not 
suffer  whole  families  thus  to  grow  up  in  heathendom  with  so  fair 
a  chapel  waiting  but  a  roof,  and  that  he  should  take  order  therefor. 

'  As  for  you,  sir,'  he  said  to  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  you  seem  to  be  pos- 
sessed of  some  learning.  You  have  studied,  I  perceive,  the  archi- 
tecture of  our  churches.' 

'  In  my  humble  way,  my  lord,  I  have  read  such  books  on  the 
subject  as  have  fallen  into  my  hands.' 

'  And  you  are  not  unacquainted  with  the  ancient  dispositions  of 
monasteries,  it  would  seem.' 

*  Also  in  my  small  way,  my  lord  ;  and  with  such  chances  of  ob- 
servation as  I  have  obtained.' 

Then  the  Bishop  seated  himself  upon  a  fallen  stone  in  the  corner 
of  the  tower,  where  he  was  sheltered  from  the  wind,  and  where  the 
sunshine  fell,  and  fixed  upon  Mr.  Hilyard  his  eyes,  which  were  like 


A  HUNTING  PARTY. 


89 


the  eyes  of  a  hawk  for  clearness,  and  more  tenible  for  sternness 
than  the  eyes  of  a  lion,  and  said  : 

'  Then,  sir,  let  me  ask  :  Who  are  you  ?' 

'  My  lord,  my  name,  at  your  lordship's  service,  is  Antony  Hil- 
yard.' 

'  So  much  I  know.  And  for  ten  years,  or  thereabouts,  in  the 
service  of  the  Forsters.  Now,  sir,  I  meddle  not  with  affairs  which 
belong  not  to  me,  therefore  when  Mr.  Thomas  Forster  of  Etherston 
received  you  as  my  nephew's  tutor,  I  made  no  inquiry.  Again, 
when  I  heard,  through  her  ladyship,  that  the  tutor,  instead  of 
becoming  a  chaplain,  as  is  generally  his  laudable  ambition,  became 
a  steward,  I  made  no  inquiry,  because,  tutor  or  steward,  your  affairs 
seemed  to  concern  me  not  at  all.  But  in  view  of  the  singular  affec- 
tion which  my  lady  hath  conceived  for  her  nephew,  her  hopes  for 
his  future,  and  her  designs  as  regards  his  inheritance,  I  can  no  longer 
suffer  him  to  remain  under  the  influence  of  men  about  whose 
character  I  know  nothing.  Doubtless,  sir,  you  are  honest.  My 
nephew  and  his  sister  swear  that  you  are  honest.' 

*  I  hope  so,  my  lord.' 

'  It  is  certain  that  you  have,  whether  for  purposes  of  your  own 
or  not,  acquired  such  an  influence  over  both  my  nephew  and  my 
niece  that  I  must  come  to  an  understanding.  You  sing,  act,  and 
play  the  Merry  Andrew,  when  he  has  his  friends  about  him  ;  you 
manage  his  household,  and  keep  his  accounts  ;  you  have  taught  the 
young  lady  to  sing,  play  music,  read  French,  and  other  things,  which, 
as  my  lady  is  assured,  are  all  innocent  and  desirable  accomplish- 
ments. We  have  also  learned  that  although  you  were  engaged  upon 
a  salary  or  wage  of  thirty  pounds  a  year,  you  have  never  received 
any  of  that  money,  save  a  guinea  here  and  there  for  clothing.  Now, 
sir,  I  judge  not  beforehand,  but  you  may  be,  for  aught  I  know,  a 
vile  Whig,  endeavouring  to  instil  into  an  honest  mind  pernicious 
opinions  ;  or  you  may  be  one  of  those  secret  plotters  who  are  the 
curse  of  our  party,  and  lui'e  on  gentlemen  to  their  destruction  ;  or 
you  may  be,  which  is  not  impossible,  a  Jesuit  on  some  secret  service. 
So,  sir,  before  we  go  any  further,  you  will  tell  me  who  and  what 
you  are — whose  son,  where  born  and  brought  up — of  what  stock, 
town,  religion.' 

'  For  my  birth,  my  lord,  I  am  of  London  ;  for  my  religion,  I  am 
a  Protestant  and  humble  servant  of  the  Church  ;  for  my  origin,  my 
father  was  a  vintner,  with  a  tavern  in  Barbican  ;  for  my  education, 
it  was  at  St.  Paul's  School,  where  I  got  credit  for  some  scholarship, 
and ' — here  he  bowed  his  head,  and  looked  guilty — '  at  Oxford,  in 
your  lordship's  own  College  of  Lincoln.' 

'  Go  on,  sir.'  For  now  Mr.  Hilyard  showed  signs  of  the  greatest 
distress,  and  began  to  cough,  to  hem,  to  blow  his  nose,  and  to  wipe 
his  brow.    '  Go  on,  sir,  I  command.' 

'  I  cannot  deny,  my  lord — nay,  I  confess — though  it  cost  me  the 
post  I  hold  and  drive  me  out  into  the  world — that  I  concealed  from 
j     Mr.  Forster  the  reasons  why  I  left  Oxford  without  a  degree.  I 

1 


90 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


hope  that  your  lordship  will  consider  my  subsequent  conduct  to 

have  in  some  measure  mitigated  the  ofEence.' 
'  What  was  the  reason  ?' 
'  My  lord,  I  was  expelled.' 

The  Bishop  nodded  his  head  as  terrible  as  great  Jove. 

*  So,  sir,'  he  said,  while  the  unlucky  man  trembled  before  him, 
*  so,  sir,  you  were  expelled.  This  is  truly  an  excellent  recommenda- 
tion for  a  tutor  and  teacher  of  young  gentlemen.  Pray,  sir,  why 
this  punishment  ?' 

'  My  lord,'  the  poor  man  replied  in  great  confusion,  *  suffer  me  of 
your  patience  to  explain  that  from  my  childhood  upwards  I  have 
continually  been  afflicted — affliction  must  I  needs  call  that  which 
hath  led  me  to  the  ruin  of  my  hopes — with  the  desire  of  mocking, 
acting,  and  impersonating  ;  also  with  the  temptation  to  write  verses, 
whether  in  Latin  or  in  English  ;  and  with  the  love  of  exciting  the 
laughter  and  mirth  of  my  companions.  So  that  to  hold  up  to  deri- 
sion the  usher  while  at  school,  which  caused  me  often  to  be  soundly 
switched,  was  my  constant  joy — even  though  I  had  afterwards  to 
cry — because  my  fellows  laughed  at  the  performance.  Or  I  was 
acting  and  rehearsing  for  their  delight  some  passage  from  Dryden, 
Shakespeare,  or  Ben  Jonson,  which  I  had  seen  upon  the  stage.' 

'  In  plain  language,  sir,  thou  wast  a  common  buffoon.' 

*  Say,  rather,  my  lord,  with  submission,  an  actor — Jdstrio.  Roscius 
was  rather  my  model  than  the  Roman  mime.' 

'  As  thou  wilt,  sir.    Go  on.' 

'  Your  lordship  cannot  but  remember  that  at  every  public  act  the 
Terrae  Filius,  after  the  Proctor,  hath  permission  to  ridicule,  or  to 
hold  up  to  derision,  or  to  satirize  ' 

*  Man,'  cried  the  Bishop,  '  I  had  partly  guessed  it.  Thou  wert, 
then,  a  Terrse  Filius.' 

'  My  lord,  it  is  most  true.' 

The  Bishop's  face  lost  its  severity.  He  laughed,  while  Mr.  Hil- 
yard  stood  before  him  trembling,  yet  a  little  reassured.  For,  to  say 
the  truth,  he  expected  nothing  but  instant  dismissal. 

'  The  Terr£e  Filius,'  said  the  Bishop.  *  There  were  many  of  them, 
but  few  of  much  account.  Some  were  coarse,  some  were  ill-bred, 
some  were  rustic,  some  were  rude — here  and  there  one  was  witty. 
The  heads  and  tutors  loved  better  the  coarse  than  the  witty.  Ay, 
ay  !  They  expelled  Tom  Pittie  when  I  was  a  bachelor,  and  they 
made  Lancelot  Addison,  afterwards  Dean  of  Lichfield,  beg  pardon 
on  his  knees.  So,  sir,  you  were  the  licensed  jester  of  the  University  ? 
An  honourable  post,  forsooth  !' 

'  It  was  not  so  much,  my  lord,'  Mr.  Hilyard  went  on,  *  for  my 
jests  before  the  University,  as  for  certain  verses  which  were  brought 
home-  to  me  by  the  treachery  of  a  man,  who — but  that  does  not 
concern  your  lordship.' 

*  Of  what  kind  where  the  verses  ?' 

*  They  were  of  a  satirical  kind.'  Mr.  Hilyard  pulled  out  his 
pocket-book,  in  which  he  kept  memoranda,  receipts,  bills,  and  so 


A  HUNTING  PARTY, 


forth.  *  If  your  lordship  would  venture  to  look  at  them.  I  keep 
always  by  me  a  copy  to  remind  me  of  my  sin.'  He  found  a  worn 
and  thumb-marked  sheet  of  printed  paper.  *  In  Latinity  they  have 
been  said  to  have  a  touch  of  Martial  or  Ausonius  at  his  best — but  I 
may  not  boast.'  He  placed  the  verses  in  the  Bishop's  hands,  and 
waited,  with  a  look  of  expectant  pride  rather  than  of  repentance  : 
he  was  no  longer  a  confessing  sinner,  or  a  jester  brought  to  shame  ; 
but,  rather,  a  poet  waiting  for  his  patron's  verdict  of  praise  or 
blame. 

The  Bishop  read  ;  the  Bishop  smiled  ;  then  the  Bishop  laughed. 

*  The  matter,  truly,  is  most  impudent,  and  richly  deserved  pun- 
ishment. The  style,  doubtless,  deserved  reward.  And  for  this 
thou  wast  expelled  ?' 

^  My  letters  recommendatory,  my  lord,  made  no  mention  of  the 
thing.  Indeed,  they  were  all  written  for  me  by  those  scholars  who 
were  my  friends  and  companions;' 

*Well,  sir,  it  is  done,  and  I  suppose  you  have  repented  often 
enough.  For  so  good  a  scholar  might  have  aspired  to  the  dignities 
of  the  Church.  It  is  an  old  tale  :  for  a  moment's  gratification,  a 
lifelong  sorrow.  You  laughed  as  a  boy,  in  order  that  you  might 
cry  as  a  man.  You  might  have  become  Fellow,  Dean,  Tutor,  even 
Master  ;  Eector  of  a  country  living,  Canon,  Prebendary,  Archdeacon, 
or  even — Bishop.  There  are,  in  these  times,  when  gentlemen  fly 
from  the  Church,  many  Bishops  on  the  Bench  of  no  better  origin 
than  your  own.  You  are  steward  to  a  country  gentleman  ;  keeper 
of  farm  and  household  accounts  ;  fellow-toper,  when  his  honour  is 
alone  ;  jester,  when  he  hath  company.' 

'  I  know  it,  my  lord,'  replied  Mr.  Hilyard  humbly.  '  I  am  Mr. 
Forster's  servant.    Yet,  a  faithful  servant.' 

'  I  know  nothing  to  the  contrary.  Why  have  you  not,  during 
these  six  years,  asked  for  the  money  promised  at  the  outset  ?' 

'  Oh,  my  lord — consider — pray — I  am  under  obligation  of  grati- 
tude to  a  most  kind  and  generous  master,  and  a  most  considerate 
mistress.  They  subsist,  though  his  honour  would  not  like  it  stated 
so  plainly,  on  the  bounty  of  your  lordship  and  my  lady.  Should  I 
presume  to  take  for  myself  what  was  meant  for  his  honour  ?' 

The  Bishop  made  no  reply  for  a  while,  but  looked  earnestly  into 
his  face. 

'  Either  thou  art  a  very  honest  fellow,'  he  said  at  length,  *  or  thou 
art  a  practised  courtier.' 
'  No  courtier,  my  lord.' 

'  I  believe  not.  Now,  sir,  I  think  it  will  be  my  duty  to  advise 
her  ladyship  that  no  change  need  be  made.  But  further  inquiry 
must  be  made.  Continue,  therefore,  for  the  present,  in  thy  duties. 
And,  for  the  salary,  I  will  see  that  thou  lose  nothing.' 

He  then  began  to  ask,  in  apparently  a  careless  fashion,  about  the 
manner  of  our  daily  life,  hearing  how  Tom  spent  his  days  in  shoot- 
ing and  so  forth,  and  showed  no  desire  for  reading,  yet  was  no  fool, 
and  ready  to  receive  information  ;  how  the  hospitality  of  the  Manor 


92 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


House,  though  not  so  splendid  as  that  of  its  late  owners,  was  abund. 
ant,  and  open  to  all  who  came,  and  so  forth  ;  to  all  of  which  the 
Bishop  listened,  as  great  men  use,  namely,  as  if  these  small  things 
are  of  small  importance,  yet  it  is  well  to  know  them,  and  that, 
being  so  small,  it  is  not  necessary  to  express  an  opinion  upon  them. 

'  I  hear,'  he  said,  '  that  certain  agitators  continue  to  go  about  the 
country.    Do  they  come  here?' 

Mr.  Hilyard  replied  that  Captain  Gascoigne  and  Captain  Talbot 
had  been  to  the  north  that  year,  but  that  Mr.  Forster  was  not,  to 
his  knowledge,  in  correspondence  with  them. 

'  It  is  important,'  said  the  Bishop,  '  that  no  steps  be  taken  for  the 
present.  There  are  reasons  of  State.  See  that  you  encourage  no 
such  work.  I  take  it  that  my  nephew  is  popular,  by  reason  of  a 
frank  character  and  generous  hand,  such  as  the  Forsters  have  always 
displayed,  rather  than  by  learning  or  eloquence.' 

'  Your  lordship  is  right.  If  I  may  presume  to  point  out  a  fault 
in  my  patron  ' 

'What  is  it ?' 

'It  is  his  inexperience.  He  hath  never,  except  to  Cambridge, 
gone  beyond  his  own  county.  Therefore  he  may  be  easily  imposed 
upon,  and  led — whither  his  friends  would  not  wish  him  to  go.' 

To  this  the  Bishop  made  no  reply,  but  fell  into  a  meditation,  and 
presently  rose  and  left  Mr.  Hilyard  among  the  ruins. 

'I  expected,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  when  he  told  me  of  this  discourse, 
'  nothing  short  of  an  order  to  be  packing.  Nothing  short  of  that 
would  do,  I  thought,  for  a  man  who  had  been  expelled  the  Univer- 
sity for  holding  up  the  Seniors  to  derision.  Alas !  I  have  been  a 
monstrous  fool.  Yet  I  doubt  not  I  should  do  it  again.  When  wit 
is  in,  wisdom  is  out.  There  was  a  man  of  whom  I  once  read,  "  He 
might  have  saved  his  life  could  he  have  refrained  his  tongue."  But 
he  could  not.  Therefore,  he  said  his  epigram  and  was  hanged, 
happy  in  the  thought  that  his  hon-mot  would  be  remembered.  Like 
good  actions,  good  sayings  live  and  bear  fruit  beyond  the  tomb. 
My  satire  on  the  Senior  Proctor — the  Bishop  laughed  at  it.  Think 
you  that  many  Bishops  in  the  future  will  not  also  laugh  at  it  ?' 

'  Is  it  so  very  comical,  Mr.  Hilyard,  that  it  would  make  me  laugh  ? 
For,  you  know,  my  sex  are  not  so  fond  of  laughing  as  your  own.' 

He  replied,  a  little  disconcerted,  that  the  chief  points  of  his 
satire  lay  in  the  Latin,  which  I  could  not  understand. 

The  business  of  the  day,  namely,  the  conversation  between  Lord 
Derwentwater  and  Lord  Crewe,  took  place  in  the  evening,  after 
dinner.  Our  guests  were  divided  into  two  sets,  one  of  which  con- 
sisted of  the  older  and  more  important  gentlemen  present,  and  the 
other  of  the  younger  sons.  The  latter  spent  their  evening  in  the 
kitchen  under  the  refectory,  where  they  were  perfectly  happy,  if 
the  noise  of  singing  and  laughing  denotes  happiness.  I  saw  Tom's 
face  grow  melancholy  as  he  sat  between  Lord  Crewe  on  his  left  and 
Lady  Crewe  on  his  right,  listening  to  discourse  on  grave  and  serious 


A  HUNTING  PARTY, 


93 


matters,  while  all  this  meiTiment  went  on  below.  Strange  it  was 
to  see  at  the  same  table  an  English  Bishop  and  a  Catholic  Earl. 

When  the  servants  were  gone,  Tom  rose  in  his  place  and  reminded 
his  friends  that  they  were  assembled  there  in  order  to  afford  an 
opportunity  for  a  conference  between  Lord  Crewe,  the  Bishop  of 
Durham,  on  the  one  hand,  and  Lord  Derwentwater,  with  the  honest 
gentlemen  of  the  county,  on  the  other.  This  conference  being 
happily  arranged,  they  would  remind  each  other  that  they  had  with 
them  the  most  venerable  of  the  party,  one  who  could  remember 
Noll  Cromwell  himself,  and  had  voted  for  King  and  Bishops  before 
Charles  II.  came  back.  With  which  words  he  asked  them  to  drink 
to  the  Prince. 

After  this  they  began  by  all,  with  one  consent,  talking  of  the 
latest  intelligence,  and  of  the  great  hopes  which  they  entertained ; 
how  the  Queen  was  reported  to  lean  more  and  more  to  the  cause  of 
her  brother ;  how  the  people  of  London  were  fast  recovering  their 
loyalty  ;  and  how  the  country,  save  for  a  few  pestilent  and  unnatural 
Whigs,  was  Jacobite  to  the  core  ;  and  so  forth.  It  seemed  as  if  I 
had  heard  that  kind  of  talk  all  my  life.  If  it  was  true,  why  could 
they  not  recall  the  Prince  at  once,  and  without  more  to  do? 
If  it  was  not  true,  why  try  to  keep  up  their  spirits  with  a 
falsehood  ?  The  plain,  simple  truth  does  not  do  for  men ; 
they  must  have  exaggerations,  rumours,  see  everything  greater 
than  it  is.  Otherwise,  there  would  be  no  such  thing  as  a 
party. 

'  To  one  wise  man,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard  to  me,  speaking  privately  of 
this  matter,  '  it  seems  as  if,  things  being  weighed,  the  for  and  the 
against,  the  scale  inclines  this  way.  To  another  wise  man,  the 
scale  inclines  that  way.  To  the  followers  of  those  wise  men  who 
cannot  weigh  the  arguments,  or  even  perceive  them,  the  scale  kicks 
the  beam.  The  more  ignorant  the  partisan,  the  more  thorough  he 
is.  Wherefore,  the  Lord  protect  us  from  wars  of  religion,  in  which 
every  common  soldier  knows  more  than  his  officers.' 

While  this  kind  of  talk  went  on,  the  Bishop  sat  quiet  and  grave, 
saying  nothing  ;  while  Lord  Derwentwater  listened,  and  Lady 
Crewe  smiled  graciously  on  one  after  the  other  as  they  appealed 
to  her. 

When  each  had  said  what  was  in  his  mind  on  the  matter  of 
loyalty,  the  Bishop  invited  Lord  Derwentwater  to  tell  the  company, 
who  had  never  had  the  happiness  of  seeing  the  Prince,  what  manner 
of  man  he  was  to  look  upon. 

'  In  person,  my  Lord  Bishop,'  he  replied,  '  his  Highness  is  tall, 
and  inclined  to  be  thin,  as  his  father  was  before  him.  He  is, 
although  so  young  in  years,  already  grave  in  manner ;  ha  speaks 
little  ;  he  is  rarely  heard  to  laugh  ;  he  hath  little  or  nothing  of  the 
natural  gaiety  of  young  men  in  France.  He  rides  well ;  his  personal 
courage  cannot  be  doubted,  having  been  sufficiently  proved  at  Oude- 
narde  and  Malplaquet ;  he  is  familiar  with  the  names  of  all  his 
friends.    For  instance,  in  Northumberland,  he  knows  that  he  can 


94 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


reckon  on  Tom  Forster ' — here  my  lord  bowed  to  Tom,  who  red- 
dened with  pleasure,  and  drank  o£f  another  bumper  to  the  Prince — 
'  and  on  Mr.  Errington ' — here  Mr.  Errington  did  the  like,  and  his 
lordship  went  on  to  name  other  gentlemen,  especially  Protestants, 
in  the  room. 

*  If  a  woman  may  ask  the  question,'  said  Lady  Crewe,  '  we  would 
hope  that  his  character  for  religion  and  virtue,  as  well  as  for  courage, 
is  such  as  to  endear  him  to  the  hearts  of  those  who  would  fain  see 
princes  of  blameless  life.' 

At  this  time  the  Prince,  then  only  two-and-twenty  years  of  age, 
though  he  had  not  acquired  the  reputation  which  afterwards  made 
many  of  his  friends  in  England  cold  to  him,  was  by  no  means  free 
from  reproach — indeed,  there  are  many  who  throw  temptation  in 
the  way  of  a  prince — and  Lord  Derwentwater .  paused  before  he 
replied. 

*  As  for  religion,'  said  my  lord,  '  I  know  that  he  hath  been  most 
religiously  educated,  and  that  his  mother  is  a  saintly  woman.  So 
much  I  can  depose  from  my  own  knowledge.  For,  if  my  Lord 
Bishop  will  pardon  the  remark,  there  were  more  masses  at  St. 
Grermain's  than  many  about  the  Court  would  willingly  attend.  As 
for  virtue,  there  have  been  rumours — are  there  not  rumours  of 
every  Prince  ?    One  must  not  repeat  idle  reports.' 

'  One  would  wish  to  know,'  said  the  Bishop,  '  if  the  Prince  hath 
a  martial  bearing,  and  one  which  may  encourage  his  followers. 
Let  us  remember  the  gallantry  of  Prince  Rupert,  and  the  cheerful 
courage  of  young  King  Hal  at  Agincourt.' 

^  I  have  never  seen  him,'  Lord  Derwentwater  replied,  *  with 
troops.  I  know  not  whether  his  face  would  show  the  cheerful 
courage  of  which  your  lordship  speaks.  That  he  is  brave  is  well 
known.  If  he  is  less  at  home  in  camp  than  in  his  Court,  we  must 
thank  the  Queen,  his  mother,  and  the  good  priests,  his  instructors, 
who  have  made  him,  perhaps,  fitter  for  heaven  than  for  earth.' 

'  I  very  much  doubt  it,'  said  the  Bishop,  with  a  smile. 

It  was  wonderful  to  think  that  here  was  a  young  gentleman  who 
had  actually  been  brought  up  with  His  Highness,  and  conversed 
with  him,  and  was  telling  us  about  him. 

'  Well,'  said  the  Bishop,  '  they  may  have  made  him  fitter  for  the 
Mass  than  the  march.  Pity — pity — a  thousand  pities  that  his 
father  must  needs  throw  away  his  crown  for  his  creed — your 
pardon,  my  lord— when  he  had  already,  had  he  pleased,  the  ancient, 
yet  reformed,  Church  of  England.  It  likes  me  not.  I  would  rather 
he  were  more  of  a  soldier  and  less  of  a  priest.  These  things  are 
well  known  to  me  already,  but  I  wished  that  these  gentlemen  here 
also  should  hear  them.  For,  believe  me,  all  is  not  yet  clear  before 
us,  my  lord.  I  have  watched  the  times  for  fifty  years  and  more. 
The  crowd  hath  shouted  now  for  one  side,  and  now  for  another ; 
but  never,  saving  your  lordship's  presence,  have  their  greasy  caps 
been  tossed  up  for  a  Roman  Catholic.  And,  even  if  the  general 
opinion  be  true,  and  the  voice  of  the  country  be  for  the  young 


A  HUNTING  PARTY, 


95 


Prince,  I  am  very  certain  that  he  will  not  win  the  English  heart, 
and  so  secure  his  throne,  unless  he  consent  to  change  his  religion.' 

'  It  may  be  so,'  replied  the  Earl.  '  Yet  sure  I  am  that  he  will 
never  change  his  religion.' 

'  Then,'  said  the  Bishop,  '  if  he  comes  home  this  year,  or  next, 
the  very  next  year  after  his  priests  will  get  him  sent  abroad  again. 
We  are  a  people  who  have  religion  much  upon  the  lips — and  it  is 
the  Protestant  religion — but  it  hinders  not  the  luxury  of  the  rich 
or  the  vices  of  the  poor.  There  are  still  living  among  us — I  say 
this  in  presence  of  you  Catholic  gentlemen — those  whose  fathers 
and  grandfathers  have  spoken  with  men  and  women  who  remem- 
bered the  flames  of  Smithfield.  Your  lordship  is  young,  but  you 
will  never — I  prophesy — no,  never — see  England  so  changed  that 
she  will  look  without  jealousy  and  hatred  upon  a  court  of  priests.' 

'  The  King  may  surround  himself,  if  he  pleases,  with  Protestant 
advisers,'  said  the  Earl.  '  We  of  the  old  faith  are  content  to  sit  at 
home  in  obscurity.  Youi'  lordship  will  not  seek  to  burn  us.  We 
ask  but  toleration  and  our  civil  rights.' 

The  Bishop  shook  his  head. 

*  Will  he  be  allowed  he  asked.  '  Meantime,  my  lord,  it  does 
my  heart  good  to  see  you — still  a  young  man  and  an  Englishman — 
no  Frenchman — back  again  among  your  own  people.  Trust  me, 
you  will  be  happier  here  than  at  St.  Germain's  or  Yersailles. 
Believe  an  old  man  who  was  about  the  Court  for  nearly  thirty 
years  :  it  is  an  air  which  begetteth  bad  humours  of  the  blood — 
with  jealousies,  envies,  and  heartburnings.  He  who  waiteth  upon 
Princes  must  expect  rubs  such  as  happen  not  to  quiet  men.  And, 
young  man,'  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  Earl's  shoulder,  '  listen  not, 
I  entreat  you,  to  vapouring  Irish  captains  or  to  Scotchmen  disap- 
pointed of  their  pensions,  or  to  soured  English  Papists,  or  to  those 
who  have  waited  in  antechamber  till  rage  has  seized  their  heart. 
Let  us  remain  on  the  right  side.  Some  day  it  will  prevail.  On 
that  day  the  voice  of  the  whole  country  will  call  their  Sovereign 
home.  It  may  be  that  they  Avill  make  him  first  embrace  the  faith 
as  contained  in  the  Thirty-nine  Articles.  Justice  is  mighty,  and 
shall  prevail.  But,  gentlemen,  no  plots  !  And  you,  sir,  as  you  are 
the  nearest  among  us  all  to  the  throne,  so  be  the  most  cautious. 
Set  the  young  hot-heads  of  the  north  a  good  example.  Gentlemen ' 
— he  rose,  tall  and  majestic,  with  white  waving  locks  and  stooping 
shoulders,  and  his  wife  rose  at  the  same  time  and  gave  him  her 
arm — '  my  lords  and  gentlemen,  Anglican  or  Catholic,  whether  of 
the  old  or  the  reformed  faith,  I  give  my  prayers  for  the  rightful 
cause,  and  to  all  here  the  blessing  of  a  Bishop.  Yea !' — he  raised 
his  tall  figure  to  the  full  height,  'the  blessing  of  one  who  is  a 
successor  of  the  Apostles  by  unbroken  and  lineal  descent  and  right 
divine !' 

Lord  Derwentwater  bent  a  knee,  and  kissed  the  Bishop's  hand. 
Then  the  company  parted  right  and  left,  bowing  low,  while  the  old 
Bishop,  with  his  lady  and  her  niece,  left  the  room. 


96 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  TENDER  CONSCIENCE. 

So,  for  prudence'  sake,  and  for  carefulness,  and  to  avoid  the 
charges  of  an  open  house,  we  remained  at  Blanchland  until  the 
New  Year. 

Before  her  departure,  Lady  Crewe  held  a  long  and  very  serious 
talk  with  Tom,  the  nature  of  which  I  was  not  told  at  the  time. 
For  many  days  afterwards  he  was  graver  than  was  his  wont,  and 
talked  much  about  his  place  in  the  county  ;  he  reprimanded  Mr. 
Hilyard,  also,  when  he  spoke  of  sport,  for  thinking  of  nothing 
more  worthy  his  attention  (whereas  the  poor  man  thought  of  sport 
not  at  all,  save  only  to  please  his  patron),  and  he  made  inquiry 
about  the  House  of  Commons,  the  duties  and  privileges  of  members, 
and  how  a  gentleman  may  rise  to  eminence  in  that  august  assembly, 
from  which  I  conjectured  that  some  plan  had  been  laid  before  him 
by  my  aunt.  He  spoke  also  of  matrimony  and  of  heiresses,  saying 
that  a  man  in  his  position,  although  his  estates  were  embarrassed, 
might  look  as  high  as  anyone,  and  that  London  was  the  place  to 
find  a  rich  gentlewoman — not  Northumberland,  where  the  families 
were  so  large  and  the  times  grown  so  peaceful  that  of  heiresses 
there  were  none  in  the  whole  county. 

'  Sir,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  I  know  little  concerning  the  ways  of 
the  great,  yet  I  have  walked  in  St.  James's  Park  and  seen  the  ladies 
followed  by  the  beaux,  few  of  whom  can  be  compared  with  your 
honour  for  comeliness  and  strength  ;  while  there  are  many  who  cut 
a  fine  figure  in  the  park  and  the  theatre,  yet  have  never  an  acre  of 
land  in  all  their  family.' 

Tom  was  twenty-seven  by  this  time,  no  longer  in  the  first  flush 
of  manhood,  but  a  handsome  fellow  still,  though  beginning  a  double 
chin  and  inclined  to  be  corpulent.  As  regards  the  pursuit  of  an 
heiress,  I  never  heard  anything  more  about  it,  and  conjecture  that 
it  was  a  part  of  her  ladyship's  advice  offered,  but  not  carried  into 
practice.  In  matters  of  gallantry,  our  North-country  gentlemen 
are  sadly  to  seek — nor  do  the  ladies  expect  it  of  them  ;  and  an 
heiress  and  a  fine  lady  of  London  would  have  so  many  beaux  fol- 
lowing her,  that  a  plain  man  would  have  very  little  chance,  however 
good  his  family. 

Presently,  Tom  grew  tired  of  keeping  his  own  counsel,  and 
therefore  told  us — I  mean  Mr.  Hilyard  as  well  as  myself — all  that 
had  passed.  Her  ladyship  was,  he  said,  most  gracious  and  kind. 
She  assured  him  that  the  restoration  of  her  own  family  to  their 
lost  wealth  and  former  position  was  all  that  she  now  lived  for, 
saving  her  obedience  to  her  husband  ;  that  she  had  no  longer  any 
hope  of  children,  and  that  while  Lord  Crewe's  Northamptonshirr, 
property  would  go  to  his  own  nephews,  nieces,  and  cousins,  he  had 
most  generously  given  to  her  the  bestowal  of  the  Northumberland 


A  TENDER  CONSCIENCE. 


97 


property,  which  she  was  resolved  upon  bequeathing  entire  to  her 
dear  nephew. 

This  was  good  hearing  indeed.  But  better  was  to  follow.  The 
Manor  House  was  to  be  maintained  as  before,  and  a  reasonable 
allowance  was  to  be  made  to  Tom  out  of  the  revenues  of  the  estate. 
He  was,  therefore,  once  more  master  of  Bamborough,  and  we  might 
still  sit  in  the  chancel  without  feeling  that  we  were  usurping  that 
place  of  honour.    All  was  to  be  Tom's. 

Yet  there  were  conditions — just  and  reasonable  conditions  I  call 
them,  and  such  as  should  have  been  accepted  without  a  murmur. 
But  men  are  so  masterful,  they  brook  not  the  thought  of  bridle  or 
of  rein.  First,  Tom  was  to  remember  that  he  was  no  longer  a 
young  man,  and  that  such  follies  as  sitting  up  all  night  drinking 
and  singing  in  the  company  of  young  gentlemen  whose  expectations 
and  fortunes  were  far  below  his  own,  should  now  cease  ;  that  on 
the  retirement  of  his  father  he  was  to  become  Knight  of  the  Shire 
in  his  place  ;  that  he  was  to  go  no  more  to  races  and  matches  where 
money  is  rashly  and  wickedly  lost ;  that  he  was  to  take  unto  him- 
self, in  reasonable  time,  a  wife  of  good  stock  and  approved  breeding  ; 
and  that,  finally,  as  regards  politics  and  the  Party,  he  was  to  take 
no  important  step,  at  any  time,  without  her  ladyship's  consent  and  - 
approval. 

These  conditions  Tom  accepted,  yet  grumbled  at  them. 

'  Why,'  he  said,  '  I  am  already  seven- and-twenty,  and  am  still  to 
be  in  leading-strings.  As  for  drinking.  Heaven  knows  it  is  not  once 
a  month  that  we  have  a  bout — is  it,  Tony  ?  Well,  two  or  three 
times  at  most  ;  as  for  racing,  if  a  gentleman  have  a  good  horse,  why 
should  he  not  back  him  for  a  few  pounds  ?  Is  one  to  be  for  ever 
counting  up  the  pence  and  watching  how  they  fly  ?  As  for  a  wife, 
all  in  good  time.  When  Dorothy  marries,  perhaps,  or  when — but 
Heaven  sends  wives.' 

'  The  conditions,  sir,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  appear  to  me  such  as 
your  honour  would  do  wrong  to  refuse,  because  they  can  never  be 
enforced  ;  nor  can  her  ladyship  ascertain  whether  or  no  they  have 
been  obeyed,  except  as  to  the  matter  of  Parliament,  in  which  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  it  would  be  greatly  to  your  honour's  interest 
to  learn  something  of  the  affairs  of  the  nation,  if  only  with  a  view 
to  those  great  offices  and  positions  of  State  which  will,  doubtless, 
some  day  be  forced  upon  you.' 

'  Well,'  Tom  replied,  '  it  is  something  to  have  in  the  house  one 
who  can  talk  a  m.an  into  anything.  Why,  Tony,  if  her  ladyship 
ordered  me  a  flogging  at  the  cart's-tail,  I  warrant  you  would  make 
it  out  to  be  very  much  in  my  interest.' 

We  were  not  without  company,  especially  in  the  autumn,  for 
Hexhamshire  and  Allendale  Commons  abound  with  wild  birds  and 
game  of  all  kinds  :  there  are  grouse,  blackcock,  partridge,  bustard, 
wild-geese,  ducks,  water-rail,  heron,  peewit,  teal,  and  snipe  ;  also 
for  those  who  care  to  shoot  them  there  are  eagles,  hawks,  falcon?, 
kestrel,  and  kite  ;  so  that  if  gentlemen  came  there  was  always  at 


98 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


least  game  for  the  table,  and  he  who  sits  down  to  a  coursed  hare,  a 
brace  of  partridges,  a  rabbit- pie,  or  from  the  farm  a  Michaelmas 
goose  or  fat  capon,  need  not  complain  about  his  dinner. 

They  came,  therefore,  across  the  moors  for  the  sake  of  the  sport, 
or  for  friendship  with  Tom,  or  to  enjoy  the  singing  and  play-acting 
of  the  jester,  or  perhaps  some  of  them — I  know  not — on  account  of 
myself.  It  is  nigh  upon  thirty  years  ago.  Alas !  the  pleasant  times 
are  gone.  Wherefore  let  me,  without  boastfulness,  but  with 
gratitude,  remember  the  days  of  my  youth,  when  men  took  pleasure 
in  such  beauty  as  had  been  granted  to  me.  I  could  tell  (but  refrain, 
because  this  book  is  not  about  myself,  but  my  brother)  how  Perry 
Widdrington  and  ISTed  Swinburne  quarrelled  about  me,  and  were 
like  to  fight — the  foolish  boys — as  if  running  each  other  through 
the  ribs  would  make  a  girl  love  either  of  them  any  the  better.  I 
had  a  deal  to  do  v/ith  them  :  for,  first  their  honour  was  concerned  ; 
then  they  had  said  such  words  to  each  other  as  required,  and  would 
have,  the  shedding  of  blood  ;  next — they  were  old  friends  from 
childhood,  and  it  was  a  shame  for  each  to  treat  the  other  so — they 
would  be  revenged  ;  lastly,  what  right  had  either  to  interfere  when 
it  was  plain  that  the  other  was  in  love  with  Dorothy  ? 

I  told  these  boys  that  they  were  a  couple  of  fools  ;  that  if  they 
fought  I  would  never  speak  with  either  of  them  again  ;  that  as  for 
their  religion,  they  were  undeserving  the  name  of  Christians,  who 
must  forgive  one  another  ;  and  that,  if  they  wanted  fm^ther  speech 
of  me,  they  must  immediately  shake  hands  and  be  brothers  again. 
At  last  they  consented,  and,  with  melancholy  faces,  shook  hands 
upon  it.  Why  they  were  sad  over  it  I  know  not,  because  this  hand- 
shaking saved  the  life  of  one  and  might  have  given  the  other  a 
bride  ;  only  that  the  lady,  when  their  hands  had  been  given,  told 
them  she  was  sorry,  but  she  could  take  neither.  So  they  went 
away  glum,  and  would  not  forgive  me  for  a  long  time.  There  was 
also  young  Tom  Clavering,  who  gave  much  trouble,  being  more 
persistent  than  most,  and  had  to  be  spoken  to  very  plainly.  I  might 
certainly  have  married  one  of  these  young  gentlemen  ;  but  I  know 
not  how  the  family  pot  would  have  been  kept  boiling,  or  a  roof 
kept  over  our  heads,  for  they  were  all  younger  sons,  with  a  poor 
forty  pounds  a  year  at  most  for  all  their  portion,  and  the  great 
family  house  to  live  in  while  they  pleased  ;  and  not  one  with  any 
thought  of  bettering  himself.  Young  men  think  that  the  pot  is 
filled  with  wishing,  and  that  love  provides  beef  as  well  as  kisses. 
They  were  brave  and  gallant  boys  ;  much  I  loved  to  see  their  hearty 
faces  and  hear  their  merry  laugh  :  but  I  could  not  regard  them  with 
the  favour  which  they  wanted,  and  for  a  very  good  reason — because 
there  was  another  man  who  had  already  fired  my  heart,  and  inso- 
much that,  beside  him,  all  other  men  seemed  small  and  mean. 

This,  then,  was  the  manner  of  our  life  at  Blanchland,  among  the 
ruins  which  the  old  monks  had  left,  and  their  melancholy  ghosts. 
Sometimes  I,  who  was  a ;  strong  of  limb  and  as  well  able  to  do  a 
day's  march  as  any,  would  go  with  the  gentlemen  when  they  went 


A  TENDER  CONSCIENCE. 


99 


shooting.  Pretty  it  is  to  watcli  the  dogs  put  up  the  game — the 
grouse  running  in  the  cover,  the  swift  whirr  of  the  coveys,  and  the 
snipe  with  their  quick  flight  and  their  thousand  twistings  and 
turnings,  designed  to  deceive  the  huntsman  and  to  escape  his  shot. 
Sometimes  I  would  don  riding-dress  (but  not  coat,  hat,  and  wig,  as 
some  ladies  are  reported  to  do  nearer  London),  and  ride  with  them 
after  the  fox,  well  pleased  if,  as  often  happened.  Master  Reynard 
escaped  the  hounds,  putting  the  hounds  off  the  scent  by  crossing  a 
stream  ;  or,  but  this  was  seldom,  I  would  get  up  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  go  with  them  otter-hunting,  which  is  too  rough  a  sport  for 
a  girl  and  too  cruel,  with  the  fighting  of  the  dogs  and  the  killing  of 
the  poor  brute  at  the  end.  After  every  party  there  was  the  finish 
of  the  day,  with  the  feast — rough  a.nd  plenty- — the  flowing  of  small- 
ale,  stout  October,  and  whisky  punch,  and  Mr.  Hilyard  always 
ready,  after  his  first  glass  or  two,  to  play  Jack  Merryman  for  the 
company  ;  and  the  Eev.  Mr.  Patten,  if  he  was  there,  ready  to  bow 
low  at  every  remark  which  my  brother  might  make,  and  to  say 
*  Hush  !'  when  he  was  going  to  speak,  and  to  sigh  when  he  had 
spoken  as  if  Solomon  himself  had  uttered  out  of  his  boundless 
wisdom  another  proverb.  "When  the  punch  began  to  go  round  I 
withdrew. 

One  of  the  most  frequent  visitors,  as  I  have  said  alreadj^,  was  this 
Reverend  Robert  Patten,  Yicar  of  AUenhead,  for  whom  at  the  very 
catset  I  conceived  a  violent  dislike.  He  came,  I  doubt  not,  partly 
in  order  to  ingratiate  himself  with  one  who  had  two  livings  in  his 
gift,  and  partly  in  order,  if  possible,  to  obtain  a  recommendation  to 
the  Bishop,  and  partly  in  order  to  get,  at  another's  expense,  as  much 
drink  as  he  could  carry — and  more.  For  my  own  part,  I  deplore 
the  practice  of  taking  too  much  wine,  even  among  gentlemen,  but 
in  a  clergyman  it  is  truly  scandalous.  As  for  the  enmity  between 
Mr.  Hilyard  and  this  disgraceful  minister,  that  by  no  means  abated, 
but  quite  the  contrary  ;  so  that,  after  the  formal  greeting,  they 
exchanged  not  a  single  word,  both  making  as  if  the  other  were  not 
present. 

At  last  I  asked  Mr.  Hilyard  for  the  cause  of  this  bad  blood 
between  them. 

'  It  seems  to  me,'  I  said,  '  that  Mr.' Patten,  whom  I  confess  I  like 
not,  is  open  to  no  other  charge  than  that  of  drunkenness,  which 
alone  should  not  make  him  hateful  in  your  eyes.  We  must  not,  Mr. 
Hilyard,  judge  our  brethren  too  severely.' 

'  It  is  true,'  he  said,  '  that  the  sight  of  his  sleek  face  and  thick 
lips  makes  me  angry,  and  sometimes  almost  beyond  myself.  Yet  I 
pray,  Miss  Dorothy,  that  you  hold  me  excused.' 

This  I  would  not  do,  but  pressed  him  to  tell  me  all,  which  he  did 
after  much  hesitation. 

'A  Christian  must  not  hate  his  brethren,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  but 
he  may,  I  suppose,  regard  him  with  contempt.  It  is  with  contempt 
that  I  look  upon  Bob  Patten.  Know,  therefore,  Miss  Dorothy,  that 
We  were  at  Oxford  together,  and  of  the  same  College.    If  I  may 


TOO 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


say  it  without  vanity,  my  parts  were  tolerable  ;  but  Bob  was  ever  a 
dull  dog.  Had  I  not  imitated  the  part  of  the  Prodigal  Son,  I 
might  now  have  been  a  grave  and  reverend  Fellow — perhaps  the 
Tutor; 

He  had  already  told  me  of  his  foolish  conduct  as  regards  the 
satire  against  one  of  his  superiors. 

*  Alas  !  the  temptations  of  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil  are 
greater  to  some  than  to  others.  There  are,  I  am  sure,  many  men 
who  are  tempted  by  none  of  the  things  which  drive  some  of  us  to 
madness.  I  am  myself  drawn  as  by  strong  ropes  whenever  I  hear 
the  sound  of  a  fiddle,  the  clinking  of  a  glass,  and  the  voices  of  those 
who  laugh  ;  if  there  is  a  church  on  one  side  of  the  street  and  a 
theatre  on  the  other,  I  have  no  choice,  but  must  needs  go  into  the 
theatre.  This  was  my  ruin.  Though  I  studied  in  the  morning,  I 
drank,  and  sang,  and  made  verses  in  the  evening.  So  I  became 
known  to  the  Proctors,  and  an  object  of  suspicion.' 

*  But  what  has  this  to  do  with  Mr.  Patten  ?' 

*  Creeping  Bob  neither  sang  (because  his  voice  was  like  the 
grating  of  rusty  nails  upon  a  slate),  nor  drank  (because  no  one 
would  give  him  or  trust  him),  nor  made  merry  (haviug  been  born 
on  the  shady  side  of  the  street),  nor  offended  Proctors  and  Tutors, 
hoping  maybe,  but  in  this  he  hath  been  mistaken,  to  make  up  for 
muddy  wit  by  nice  morality,  and  perhaps  to  get  a  Fellowship  and  a 
fat  College  living.  This  conduct  made  him  deservedly  popular  with 
his  fellows,  and  gained  him  the  glorious  title  of  Creeping  Bob.  As 
he  was  then,  so  is  he  now.' 

'  But,  Mr.  Hilyard,  ought  the  prejudice  of  youthful  days  to  be 
considered  sufficient  cause  for  so  great  a  contempt  ?' 

'  Nay — but  there  is  more.  For  certain  small  natural  gifts ' — he 
assumed  an  air  of  humility  which  was  nothing  in  the  world  but 
pride  in  a  vizard — '  which  have  been  my  plague  ;  namely,  that  I 
could  make  epigrams  (yet  Martial  himself  was  always  a  dependent 
on  patrons,  and  lived  in  poverty)  and  verses  (poets  are  allowed  to 
be  a  ragged  race)  and  orations,  whether  in  Latin  or  in  English,  and 
either  in  the  comical  or  the  serious  vein,  and  could  in  half  an  hour 
write  more  and  better  to  the  point  than  dull-witted  pates  such  as 
Bob  can  do  in  a  year — I  got  a  reputation,  and  was  presently  re- 
garded with  terror  by  every  Doctor  of  Divinity  and  reverend  person 
in  the  University,  because  whatever  was  whispered  of  scandal,  as  of 
one  grave  Professor  being  carried  home  brimful  of  punch,  and 
another — but  these  are  old  stories — suffice  it  that  the  next  day  there 
was  dished  up,  hot  and  hot,  such  a  course  of  verses,  satires,  epi- 
grams, and  secret  history  as  made  the  Fathers  of  the  University 
tremble.  And  though  they  knew  the  hand  which  wrought  these 
verses,  they  could  not  prove  the  fact. 

*  Perhaps  I  had  still  escaped,  but  for  a  dastardly  act  of  crowning 
treachery.  For  I  had  got  safely  to  my  third  and  last  year,  when  I 
ought  to  have  been  presenting  myself  for  a  degree  in  Arts,  with  my 
string  of  syllogisms.    Then,  indeed,  my  life  would  have  been  dif- 


A  TENDER  CONSCIENCE, 


loi 


ferent ;  instead  of  a  servant — whose  fetters,  Miss  Dorothy,  you 
have  most  generously  covered  with  silk ' — he  bowed  low  and  his 
voice  shook — '  I  say,  generously  covered  with  the  finest  silk,  so  that 
they  have  not  galled  the  limbs  of  him  that  wears  them,  I  might 
have  been  now  a  great  preacher,  or  a  grave  scholar,  a  credit  to  my 
father's  care,  and  a  monument  and  proof  of  answer  to  his  prayers. 
Yet  I  lost  all  for  the  glory  of  a  single  set  of  verses.' 

I  knew  already  that  he  had  committed  this  great  madness.  It 
seems  incredible  that  young  men  can  be  found  so  eager  for  applause 
that  they  will  even  stake  the  hazard  of  a  life  upon  the  laughter  of 
an  hour.    But  this  Mr.  Hilyard  did. 

'  As  for  my  oration  at  Commemoration,  that,'  he  went  on,  'might 
have  been  passed  over,  though  there  were  angry  threats  uttered. 
Yet  it  was  allowed  that  a  better  oration  than  mine  had  never  been 
made  by  any  TeiTse  Filius  in  the  memory  of  man.  What  did  my 
business  was  a  satire  on  the  Yice- Chancellor,  which  the  next  day 
went  about  from  College  to  College.  There  was  no  name  to  it,  but 
everybody  knew  who  wrote  it.  This  gave  them  an  excuse  for 
bringing  forward  my  speech  before  the  Heads,  and  while  one  wanted 
me  to  be  forgiven,  and  another  to  write  me  for  two  years  in  the 
Black  Book,  and  another  to  send  me  down  altogether,  lo  you  !  the 
President  of  my  College  settled  the  matter  for  me,  for  he  lugged 
out  of  his  pocket  a  letter  in  which  the  writer,  whose  name  he  with- 
held, said  he  felt  moved  by  the  extraordinary  tenderness  of  his  con- 
science to  disclose  the  fact  that  the  author  of  the  satire  was  no  other 
than  Mr.  Antony  Hilyard,  of  his  own  College,  and  offered  proof, 
not  only  as  regarded  the  last  production,  but  of  every  epigram  and 
squib  about  which  noise  had  been  made  for  a  whole  twelvemonth. 
After  that  there  was  no  more  to  do.  They  sent  for  me,  the  letter 
was  read  before  my  face,  and  I  was  expelled.  The  writer  of  the 
letter  was  no  other  than  Creeping  Bob.  This  the  President  himself 
afterwards  told  me.  If  I  had  been  Aristides  the  Just  they  could 
not  more  unanimously  have  voted  my  expulsion.' 

This,  then,  v/as  the  reason  of  his  animosity.  Certainly,  no  one 
can  deny  that  it  was  a  good  and  sufficient  reason. 

'  Doth  Mr.  Patten  know  ' 

*  I  believe  he  knows  it  not.  Yet,  he  who  has  once  injured  a  man 
always  fears  that  man,  and  would  injure  him  again  if  he  could. 
There  is  a  way  in  which  he  could  do  me  another  wrong.  I  doubt 
not  he  will  some  day  discover  this  method.' 

'  But  how  can  he  hurt  you  now  ?' 

'  When  I  was  expelled,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  run  before 
my  creditors  in  the  town  got  wind  of  my  misfortunes.  It  is  ten 
years  ago,  but  creditors  never  forget,  and,  were  they  to  learn  where 
to  find  me,  a  debtors'  prison  would  be  my  lot.  If  Mr.  Patten  is  so 
officious  as  to  tell  anyone  in  Oxford — well,  at  nineteen  one  is  a  fool, 
but  sometimes  folly  is  punished  worse  than  crime.  I  had  no  right, 
being  penniless,  to  have  debts  at  all  ;  nor  should  I,  the  son  of  a 
vintner,  have  presumed  to  wear  white  linen,  lace  ruffles,  and  silver 


102 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


buttons.  Yet  I  did,  trusting  to  pay  when  I  was  made  a  Fellow,  as 
is  the  custom  at  the  University.  Wherefore  I  go  daily  in  terror  of 
the  bailiffs,  and  at  night  lie  down  thinking  that  Newcastle  Gaol  is 
my  certain  end.' 

'  Surely,  a  minister  of  the  Church  would  not  ' 

*  Bob  Patten  would  if  he  thought  of  it.  As  for  the  mischief 
which  he  tries  to  work  between  his  honour  and  myself,  there,  indeed, 
I  defy  him.' 

So  for  the  present  the  conversation  came  to  an  end.  But  I  turned 
the  matter  over  in  my  own  mind,  and  watched  the  two.  I  saw  that 
Mr.  Patten  still  cast  upon  the  man  whom  he  had  injured  malignant 
scowls  when  he  thought  himself  unobserved,  and  T  found  an  oppor- 
tunity to  converse  privately  with  him  as  well. 

I  began  by  asking  him  whether  he  had  known  Mr.  Hilyard  in 
former  times. 

He  confessed  that  their  acquaintance  was  of  old  times,  when  they 
were  young  and  at  the  same  College  together  ;  though,  he  added, 
they  were  never  friends  or  of  the  same  way  of  thinking.  For  which 
he  piously  thanked  Heaven. 

Thereupon,  I  asked  him  further  if  there  were  anything,  so  far  as 
he  remembered,  against  the  private  character  of  Mr.  Hilyard — other 
than  might  be  alleged  against  any  young  man. 

Here  Mr.  Patten  hesitated.  Presently,  he  said  that  as  regards 
character  a  great  deal  might  be  said  ;  but,  indeed,  a  young  man 
who  was  expelled  the  University  for  intolerable  license,  railing  ac- 
cusations, exaggerated  charges,  and  unspeakable  disrespect  towards 
his  superiors,  had  need  of  all  that  could  be  said  for  him  ;  still,  he 
would  say  nothing,  only  that,  as  he  had  reason  to  believe,  there 
were  many  tradesmen  of  Oxford,  honest  creatures,  who  had  trusted 
his  word,  and  now  would  gladly  know  where  Mr.  Hilyard  could  be 
found. 

Upon  this  I  stopped  him  short,  and  informed  him  in  plain  lan- 
guage that,  as  no  one  could  tell  these  tradesmen  except:  himself,  ha 
must  understand,  once  and  for  all,  that  the  favour  of  Mr.  Forster, 
if  he  hoped  anything  from  it,  depended  on  his  observing  silence. 

'.Let  there  be,'  I  added,  '  no  letters  of  a  "  tender  conscience,"  Mr. 
Patten'— at  this  he  started  and  looked  confused — 'I  say,  let  no 
letters  of  a  "  tender  conscience "  be  written.  Remember  that. 
Should  anything  be  done  by  Oxford  people,  it  shall  certainly  be 
laid  at  your  door,  though,  to  be  sure,  a  body  would  be  sorry  if  a 
godly  minister,  such  as  yourself,  should  suffer  from  an  injuiious 
suspicion.' 

Mr.  Patten,  who  had  turned  first  red  and  then  pale,  at  mention 
of  a  letter  of  conscience,  protested  that  he  bore  no  malice  towards 
Mr.  Hilyard  ;  and  that,  so  far  as  the  Oxford  people  were  concerned, 
he  had  nothing  to  make  or  meddle  in  the  matter. 

Then  I  went  farther.  I  said  that  Mr.  Hilyard  had  now  been  in 
the  family  for  a  great  many  years  ;  that  he  had  always  shown  him- 
Belf  faithful,  silent  on  occasion,  and  honest ;  that  he  was  a  gentle- 


A  TENDER  CONSCIENCE. 


103 


man  of  most  ingenious  mind  and  great  parts  ;  that  not  only  Mr. 
Forster  but  also  Lady  Crewe  entirely  trusted  him.  Wherefore,  if 
any  distrust  should  arise  in  the  minds  of  these,  or  either  of  these 
two,  it  could  be  none  other  than  the  work  of  a  private  enemy  ;  and 
I  plainly  bade  Mr.  Patten  beware,  lest,  through  any  hostility  of  his 
own,  he  should  cause  such  a  distrust,  because,  in  such  a  case,  he 
would  have  others  besides  Mr.  Hilyard  to  encounter,  and  the  truth 
should  be  wholly  laid  before  the  Bishop. 

He  protested  again  that  nothing  was  farther  from  his  thoughts 
than  to  create  any  such  mischief  ;  that  he  was  a  man  who  loved 
peace  and  friendship,  and  so  forth.  But  he  looked  angry  and 
troubled,  his  fat  lips  shook,  and  his  small  pig-like  eyes  winked. 

Enough  of  this  villain  for  the  present. 

CHAPTEE  XI. 

DAPHNE. 

I  HAVE  not  yet  spoken  of  our  most  honoured  visitors,  the  three 
Radcliffe  brothers.  They  all  came  often,  but  the  eldest  most  often. 
The  reason  of  his  coming  you  shall  presently  discover.  As  for  all 
the  three,  though  they  conformed  to  our  customs,  and  especially  in 
the  hospitality  for  which  the  north  is  famous  (to  the  destruction  of 
many  a  fine  estate),  they  loved  not  to  sit  long  over  their  wine,  and 
left  the  table  vv  lien  the  night  was  yet  young,  and  the  bottle  but  just 
beginning.  The  example  of  Lord  Derwent water's  manner  shammed 
our  young  gentlemen  of  their  rusticity,  though  it  drove  them  not 
from  the  whisky  punch.  Thus  Tom,  for  instance,  began  to  take 
part  in  discom'se  which  was  serious  and  grave,  as  ladies  like  it. 
With  the  assistance  of  Mr.  Hilyard  and  my  lord,  we  held  a  great 
many  conversations  on  those  curious  matters — theological,  philo- 
sophical, scientific,  and  so  forth — which  do  most  concern  the  soul. 
To  recall  some  of  these  old  conversations  of  a  happy  time,  the 
question  was  once  argued  by  us  whether  Abraham  was  not  the  first 
institutor  of  public  schools  ;  and  again,  why  the  Fallen  Angel  is 
called  alike  the  Son  of  the  Morning  and  the  Prince  of  Darkness  ; 
and  another,  whether  a  good  painter  may  not  draw  a  face  better 
and  more  beautiful  than  any  yet  made  ;  and  whether  it  is  right  for 
a  good  patriot,  who  loves  his  country,  and  should  desire  to  beget 
children  for  its  defence,  to  become  a  monk  or  a  nun  ;  whether  eyes 
or  tongue  help  most  to  love  ;  why  a  wet  sheet  tied  round  a  cask 
prevents  the  liquor  from  freezing  in  the  hardest  weather  ;  whether 
the  fall  of  Lucifer  was  the  occasion  of  the  creation  of  the  vv^orld  ; 
what  is  the  best  argument  to  prove  the  existence  of  Grod  ;  whether 
the  death-watch  gives  a  long  or  short  notice  ;  why  Alexander  called 
his  horse  Bucephalus  ;  how  the  flying  of  kites  may  be  improved  to 
the  public  advantage  ;  why  fish  taken  from  the  salt  sea  taste  fresh  ; 
what  sort  of  Government  is  best  ?  who  are  Gog  and  Magog  ?  why 
the  stork  is  never  found  except  in  a  Republic  ;  who  was  the  father 


I04 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


of  Louis  XIV.  ?  whether  the  best  times  are  already  past,  or  are  yet 
to  come — ^with  many  other  questions  and  curious  problems,  invented 
or  found  for  us  by  Mr.  Hilyard,  who  enriched  every  discussion  with 
so  great  a  flow  of  learning  as  astonished  those  able  to  follow  and 
understand  him.  It  was  pleasing  at  these  times  to  observe  the 
shamef  acedness  of  those  gallant  boys.  Perry  Widdrington  and  Ned 
Swinburne  ;  how  they  listened,  and  pretended  to  be  regarding  the 
speaker  and  his  manner  of  dealing  with  the  subject  in  hand  ;  and 
how,  presently,  they  either  fell  asleep  or  stole  gently  away,  and  so 
to  their  tobacco  and  October. 

'  My  lord,'  said  Tom,  '  is  a  gentleman  of  the  finest  breeding  ;  yet, 
hang  it,  he  won't  drink  !  He  can  ride  with  the  best,  and  shoot 
with  the  best — pity  that  so  strong  a  man  should  have  a  head  so 
weak.' 

'In  Paris,'  I  replied,  'it  is,  happily,  not  the  fashion  for  gentle- 
men to  drink.' 

*  Na — na.  Fashion — fashion  !  we  gentlemen  of  the  north  care 
nothing  for  fashion.  Drinking  will  never  go  out  of  fashion  in  this 
country.  A  man  ought  to  sit  with  the  company  and  see  the  bottle 
out,  not  to  get  up  with  a  "  By  your  leave,  gentlemen,"  and  so  off  to 
the  women  before  the  toast  goes  round  half-a-dozen  times.  Let  me 
tell  you,  sister,  my  lord  and  his  brothers  will  never  be  truly  popular 
till  they  learn  to  take  their  glasses  about  with  the  rest.' 

Tom  was  wrong,  because  the  Earl's  good  heart  made  him  every- 
v/here  beloved.  It  is  better,  methinks,  to  carry  all  hearts  by 
generosity  and  virtue  than  to  be  popular  in  a  company  of  gentle 
men  for  strength  of  head,  like  any  Timothy  Tosspot.  Why,  Mr. 
Hilyard  was  popular  among  those  who  knew  nothing  of  his  scholar- 
ship and  fine  qualities,  because  he  was  never  known  to  fall  under 
the  table  while  there  was  another  man  still  sitting  up.  Any  brewer's 
man  may  become  popular  for  the  same  cause. 

'  My  Lord  Derwentwater,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard  himself,  who  was  not, 
in  spite  of  his  own  practice,  a  respecter  of  those  who  love  strong 
drink — see  how  men  can  admire  virtue,  and  even  love  her,  yet  still 
practise  what  they  despise  !  '  My  lord  is  all  goodness,  I  think.  He 
reads  books  ;  he  hath  received  a  liberal  education  from  the  Jesuit 
Fathers,  and  can  quote  from  Tully,  the  Mantuan,  and  even  the 
great  Epicurean  poet.  It  is  long,  indeed,  since  so  great  a  nobleman 
was  also  so  good  a  scholar.  At  the  University  of  Oxford,  alas  !  the 
sons  of  gentlemen  and  noblemen  are  encouraged  to  pass  their  time 
in  any  pursuit  rather  than  reading.  And  in  Northumberland  the 
gentlemen  have  been  too  busy,  until  late  years,  upon  their  Border 
frays  to  regard  learning  greatly.  My  lord  is  truly  a  Phoenix  among 
them.  Pity  that  he  still  adheres  to  the  old  religion.  Faith,  Miss 
Dorothy,  may  surpass  reason,  but  must  not  oppose  it.  Yet,  as  hath 
been  well  observed,  religion  lieth  not  so  much  in  the  understanding 
as  in  the  practice.' 

Thus  it  happened  that  on  many  occasions  my  lord  would  leave 
the  gentlemen  over  their  cups  and  sit  with  me,  conversing  on  all 


DAPHNE. 


105 


kinds  of  subjects,  such  as  his  relations  with  the  Prince,  his  life  in 
Paris,  and  his  projects  for  the  future.  He  opened  up  his  mind  to 
me  in  such  a  way  as  only  a  young  man,  in  the  society  of  a  woman 
whom  he  trusts,  can  open  his  mind.  I  may  truly  say  that  I  found 
him  always  inclined  to  good  works,  of  the  most  benevolent  disposi- 
tion, and  full  of  kindness,  without  any  meanness,  vice,  or  blemish 
in  his  character.  Why  do  I  say  these  things  ?  His  nobleness  is  so 
well  known  that  for  me  to  add  my  testimony  is  but  like  carrying 
coals  to  Newcastle.  One  thing  I  learned  very  plainly,  that  my  lord, 
though  of  so  great  a  name  and  estate,  desired  nothing  in  the  world 
§0  much  as  to  remain  in  ease  and  retirement  ;  to  be  v»^hat  his  great- 
grandfather had  been  (there  is  no  happier  lot  in  the  world),  a  plain 
country  gentleman,  and  so  to  live  and  die.  Yet  with  such  loyalty 
that  he  knew  well,  and  acknowledged,  that  when  the  Prince's  fol- 
lowers made  a  serious  effort,  he  too,  at  risk  of  all,  must  arise  and 
go  with  them.  Wherefore  he  prayed  daily  that  the  voice  of  the 
nation  might  pronounce — yea,  shout  loudly — for  the  Prince,  so  that 
a  restoration,  not  a  rebellion,  might  follow.  But  for  vapouring 
conspirators  he  had  no  patience,  and  to  such  he  would  never  listen. 

'It  gives  me  pleasure,'  he  said  (so  kindly  was  his  heart),  '  to  con- 
verse with  you,  fair  Miss  Dorothy ;  nowhere  else  do  I  find  so  kind 
a  listener.  For  if "  I  talk  with  my  brother  Frank,  he  presently  flies 
into  a  rage  at  the  country's  treatment  of  Catholics ;  and  if  to  my 
aunts,  they  reproach  me  for  lukewarmness  towards  the  Church, 
whereas.  Heaven  knows — but  that  may  pass  ;  and  if  to  your  brother, 
he  falls  into  his  cups,  and  then  he  may  say  one  knows  not  what. 
There  is  wisdom  in  your  face — which  I  have  made  to  blush — for- 
give me.  Dorothy,'  he  whispered,  'have  your  lovers  never  written 
any  verses  on  your  blushing  cheeks  ?' 

I  told  him  that  gentlemen  in  Northumberland  do  not  make  verses 
on  ladies  at  all. 

Afterwards  I  told  this  pretty  compliment  (which  was  made  with 
all  respect)  to  Mr.  Hilyard,  who  laughed,  and  said  that  it  was  high 
time  for  the  Muses  to  exchange  Parnassus  for  the  Cheviot,  or  for 
Spindleston  Heugh  at  least. 

Then  my  lord  began  to  tell  me  of  the  ways  in  Paris,  and  how  the 
ladies  were  called  by  names  other  than  their  owu,  sometimes  a  name 
made  by  an  anagram,  and  sometimes  by  a  name  taken  from  classical 
story. 

'As  for  you/  he  said,  'you  should  be  called  Daphne,  after  the 
nymph  who  was  turned  into  a  laurel.  Daphne  or  Dorothy,  which 
may  I  call  you  ?' 

We  were  walking  along  the  south  bank  of  the  stream,  where  it 
rises  in  a  hill,  and  is  covered  with  hanging  woods.  Tom  was  gone 
a-shooting,  and,  though  it  was  late  in  the  j^ear,  the  yellow  leaves  were 
still  upon  the  trees,  and  there  were  flowers  yet  among  the  grass. 

'DL])hne,  or  Dorothy — which?' 

'  Oh !  my  lord,  I  am  a  plain  country  girl,  and  know  not  the 
language  of  gallantry.' 


io6 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


'  Heavens !'  he  replied.  '•  If  such  a  face  could  be  seen  in  the  land 
where  this  language  is  talked !  But  that,  fair  Daphne,  is  impos- 
sible. The  French  ladies  are  gracieuses^  but  they  have  not  the 
beautiful  face  and  jSgure  of  our  Englishwomen,  any  more  than 
their  country  has  the  charms  of  this,  which  is  surely  the  garden  of 
all  the  world.' 

Could  any  woman  hear  snch  things  said  to  her  for  the  first  time, 
and  by  a  man  so  young,  so  handsome,  and  so  noble,  and  not  lose  her 
heart?  Why,  I  am  proud  to  think  that  this  divine  young  man 
made  love  to  me  ;  it  makes  me  happy  to  remember  it.  I  confess 
that  I  was  ready  to  give  him  my  hand  and  my  heart.  I  should  be 
ashamed  of  myself  now  if  I  had  not  been  ready,  because  it  would 
argue  a  head  so  insensible  that  a  negro  of  New  Guinea  would  scorn. 
And  yet,  whether  I  be  believed  or  no,  I  declare  that  I  had  no 
thought  of  securing  a  coronet  and  a  great  estate.  This  was  so.  I 
was  a  simple  country  girl,  but  of  an  honourable  house  ;  a  Radcliffe 
could  do  a  Forster  no  honour  by  marrying  her.  I  was  unused  to 
the  polite  world,  ignorant  of  courts,  and  untrained  in  arts  of 
coquetry.  Again,  I  had  no  knowledge  of  a  woman's  power,  nor 
could  I  lure  a  man ;  nor  did  I  know  aught  of  the  strength  and 
passion  of  love,  jealousy,  or  rivalry,  save  for  the  things  Mr.  Hilyard 
read  to  me  out  of  Ovid — such  as  the  stories  of  Cephalus  and  Procris, 
Hero  and  Leander,  Sappho  and  Phaon.  It  was  by  no  arts  of  mine 
that  my  lord  Avas  attracted  to  my  side.  Yet  a  woman  is  not  a  stock 
or  a  stone  ;  and  when  I  saw  that  he  loved  me — why,  truly,  I  need 
say  no  more. 

Some  days  after  he  called  me  Daphne  I  found  lying  on  ray  table, 
written  in  a  feigned  hand,  a  copy  of  most  beautiful  verses.  Who 
could  doubt  the  poet  ? 

*  Like  apple-blossom,  white  and  red  ; 

Like  hues  of  dawn,  which  fly  too  soon  ; 
Like  bloom  of  peach,  so  softly  spread  ; 

Like  thorn  of  May  and  rose  of  June— 
Oh,  sweet  !  oh,  fair  !  beyond  compare, 

Are  Daphne's  cheeks. 
Are  Daphne's  blushing  cheeks,  I  swear. 
*That  pretty  rose,  which  comes  and  goes, 
Like  April  sunshine  in  the  sky, 
1  can  command  it  when  I  choose — 

See  how  it  rises  if  I  cry, 
Oh,  sweet !  oh,  fair  !  beyond  compare. 

Are  Daphne's  cheeks. 
Are  Daphne's  blushing  cheeks,  I  swear, 
•Ah  !  when  it  lies  round  lips  and  eyes, 

And  fades  away,  again  to  spring, 
No  lover,  sure,  could  ask  for  more 

Than  still  to  cry,  and  still  to  sing  : 
Oh,  sweet !  oh,  fair  !  beyond  compare, 

Are  Daphne's  cheeks. 
Are  Daphne's  blushing  cheeks,  I  swear. 


DAPHNE. 


107 


Never,  sure,  were  verses  more  beautiful.  I  read  tliem  again  and 
again.  I  took  them  to  bed  with  me,  just  as  a  little  maid  takes  het- 
doll  with  her.    I  knew  them  all  by  heart,  and  blushed — 

*  That  pretty  rose  which  comes  and  goes, 
Like  April  sunshine  in  the  sky  ' — 

whenever  I  said  them  to  myself.  Who  could  have  written  them 
but  my  lord  ?  I  waited  for  his  next  visit,  and  showed  the  lines  to 
him,  thinking  he  would  have  confessed.  Ah  !  the  pretender !  He 
road  them  with  an  air  of  astonishment  so  natural  that  it  might  have 
imposed  upon  any,  so  that  I  did  not  dare  charge  him  with  Avhat  he 
was  too  modest  to  acknowledge. 

'Daphne,'  he  said,  'they  are  pretty  verses  indeed.  I  would  I 
could  find  such  rhymes  to  fit  my  thoughts.  Prior  himself  hath 
never  wiitten  better.    Alas !  why  am  I  not  a  poet  ?' 

So  he  read  them  again,  and  when  he  read  the  last  lines, 

*  Oh,  sweet  !  oh,  fair  !  beyond  compare, 
Are  Daphne's  cheeks, 
Are  Daphne's  blushing  cheeks,  I  swear,' 

he  stooped  and  kissed  my  hand,  saying  : 

'  Ah !  Dorothy,  are  there  in  all  the  world  cheeks  more  sweet  than 
thine?' 

Thus  we  talked,  and  in  such  sweet  discourse  the  days  passed  by. 
I  have  sometimes  wondered  whether  Tom  suspected  that,  while  he 
was  tramping  the  moors,  fowling-piece  in  hand.  Lord  Derwentwater 
was  turning  his  sister's  head  with  compliments,  and  stealing  away 
her  heart.  Mr.  Hilyard  knew  and  witnessed  all,  but  I  understand 
not  why  he  grew  every  day  more  gloomy,  insomuch  that  Tom 
declared  he  now  wanted  six  glasses  of  punch  at  least  before  he 
became  moderately  cheerful.  Why  should  he  not,  since  he  pro- 
tested so  much  affection  for  me,  be  the  happier  for  my  happiness  ? 
And  why  should  he,  when  I  went  singing,  go  with  his  head  hanging  ? 
He  ought,  further,  to  have  been  happy  because  Lord  Derwentwater 
noticed  him  kindly,  condescended  to  ask  his  opinion  on  many 
matters  of  importance,  and  listened  gravely  to  his  conversation. 

'  Such  a  man,'  he  said,  '  would  in  France  be  a  poet  and  wit  in  the 
service  of  some  great  lord,  or  he  would  be  a  hanger-on  of  ladies' 
salons  and  ruelles,  making  verses  for  them,  writing  operas  and 
comedies.  He  would  be  admitted  to  the  suppers  of  princes,  where 
he  would  sing  and  recite  and  play  a  thousand  monkey  tricks.  He 
would  be  just  such  a  man  as  Boisrobert,  the  favourite  of  the 
Cardinal  fifty  years  ago,  or  Benserade,  or  Yoiture,  or  any  of  them. 
He  would  be  an  abbe  at  least,  and  presently  would  get  something, 
a  canonry,  a  prebend's  stall,  or  even  a  parish.  What  can  such  a 
man  do  in  England  ?* 

Such  a  man  might,  Mr.  Hilyard  himself  told  me,  go  to  London, 
find  a  patron,  write  plays,  and  perhaps  obtain  a  place  ,  or  he  might 
be  the  starving  wit  of  a  coffee-house,  the  hack  of  a  publisher,  and 
die  in  a  garret. 


io8 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


*  It  is  melancholy,'  Lord  Derwentwater  continued,  *  to  see  so  fine 
a  scholar  thus  wasted  and  thrown  away.  '  Not,'  he  added,  *  that 
any  man  can  be  thrown  away  to  whom  it  is  allowed  to  sit  daily  in 
your  presence  and  to  hear  your  voice.  But  a  man  of  such  vast  read- 
ing, with  a  memory  so  prodigious,  should  have  climbed' high  up  the 
ladder  by  now.  He  should  be  a  Court  Chaplain,  or  a  Dean  ;  whereas 
what  is  the  poor  man  but  a  Jack  Pudding  in  the  evening  and  a 
steward  in  the  morning  ?  A  play-actor  need  not  know  G-reek  nor  a 
steward  Hebrew.    And  when  Tom  Forster  marries — what  ?' 

*  Mr.  Hilyard  will  always  have  one  friend,'  I  said.  '  Who  loves 
me  must  love  him  too.' 

'  I  would  love  an  ape  for  your  sake,'  he  replied.  '  Therefore  I 
find  it  easy  to  love  this  ingenious  gentleman  and  unfortunate 
scholar.' 

So,  one  day,  I  ventured  to  ask  the  poor  man  why  he  grew  so 
melancholy. 

He  said,  first  of  all,  that  he  was  not  melancholy,  but  brimful  of 
spirits  and  joy,  to  prove  which  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

'  Nay,'  I  said,  '  but  I  know  the  contrary.  Tell  me — why,  surely 
you,  to  whom  I  owe  so  much  gratitude,  cannot  think  I  am  careless 
of  your  concerns.    Tell  me,  dear  friend,  if  it  is  anything  I  can  help.' 

'  It  is  nothing  that  you  can  help,'  he  said.  'I  am,  in  truth,  the 
most  ungrateful  dog  in  the  world  not  to  be  jumping  about  and 
singing  all  day  to  give  you  pleasure ;'  and  yet  here  he  fetched 
another  sigh.  '  I  think  of  the  future,  when  you  will  go  and  I 
remain.    But  since  you  will  be  happy,  what  matters  it  for  me  ?' 

*  Oh,  Mr.  Hilyard  !  I  could  not  be  happy  if  you  were  miserable, 
"We  have  been  companions  so  long.  Do  you  think  I  could  ever 
forget  your  readings  and  your  talk,  from  which  I  have  learned  all 
I  know  ?  Nay — but  let  me  whisper  one  thing.  See — there  is  one 
who — who — pretends  to  find  pleasure  in  my  society.  He  knows 
very  well  that  he  who  loves  me  must  love  my  Mr.  Hilyard  as  well.' 

Mr.  Hilyard  hath  a  heart  full  of  sensibility.  He  bowed  and  kissed 
my  hand,  and  said  nothing.  But  tears  were  running  down  his 
cheeks. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

FRANK  RADCLIFFE. 

The  second  of  the  brothers  came  seldom.  He  was  a  grave  lad  :  he 
neither  laughed  nor  made  merry,  nor  rode  a-hunting  like  his  two 
brothers.  In  figure  he  was  the  tallest  of  the  three  ;  but  stooped  in 
walking,  so  that  he  seemed  the  shortest.  He  was  possessed  of  a 
strange  melancholy,  of  which  he  was  never  quite  free,  although 
sometimes  he  would  seem  to  shake  it  off  and  talk  bravely  for  a 
while.  He  was  like  his  uncle.  Colonel  Thomas  Radcliffe,  in  his 
temperament,  being  as  moody  and  as  full  of  strange  fancies. 

*  It  is  a  disease,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  speaking  of  Francis  Eadclifiie's 


FRANK  RADCLIFFE, 


109 


melancholia,  'for  which  there  is  no  known  remedy,  while  the  causes 
are  subtle  and  manifold.  The  patients  are  subject  to  strange  fancies 
and  illusions  ;  some  have  thought  themselves  made  of  glass  and 
others  of  feathers  ;  some  are  held  down  with  fears,  and  others  in- 
flated like  bladders  with  wild  hopes ;  some  suffer  the  curse  of 
Apuleius,  in  that  dead  men's  bones  are  always  held  before  them  :  a 
strange  disease  indeed.  Yet  melancholy  men,  as  Aristotle  insisteth, 
are  often  witty.' 

Mr.  Hilyard,  therefore,  regarded  this  young  gentleman  with  a 
peculiar  curiositj^  and  loved  nothing  so  much  as  to  talk  with  him 
and  learn  his  thoughts.  First  of  all  he  discovered  that  this  boy  was 
strangely  given  to  the  study  of  all  books  which  he  could  find  upon 
the  unseen  world,  such  as  books  on  oracles,  conjuring,  of  spirits, 
predictions,  astrology,  and  so  forth.  On  meeting  encouragement  he 
opened  his  mind  to  Mr.  Hilyard  and  took  counsel  with  him.  There 
was  no  subject  in  the  world,  I  believe,  in  which  our  most  ingenious 
Oxford  scholar  was  not  versed.  Therefore  Frank  learned  from  him 
how  to  conjure  spirits,  raise  the  dead,  cast  nativities,  and  so  forth, 
and  that  is  to  say,  all  that  books  can  teach. 

'  Which  is,'  Mr.  Hilyard  said,  '  everything  except  the  essential. 
I  mean,  Mr.  Radcliffe,  that  you  may  question  the  stars,  but  you 
must  read  their  answer  yourself,  because  they  are  silent  ;  and  you 
may  question  the  dead — these  books  tell  you  how—  but  I  doubt  if 
they  will  reply.' 

Nevertheless  they  began  to  amuse  themselves  with  casting  horo- 
scopes and  nativities,  erecting  celestial  figures  and  the  houses  of 
heaven  ;  Mr.  Hilyard  all  the  time  protesting  that  the  thing  was  a 
foolish  invention,  and  useful  only  in  that  it  taught  something  of  the 
planetary  courses.  Yet  he,  like  his  pupil,  watched  anxiously  for 
the  event ;  and  when,  not  in  one  case  only,  that  of  Frank  himself, 
but  also  of  the  Earl  and  my  brother  Tom,  the  future  which  they 
hoped  to  find  lovely  and  fortunate  came  out  gloomy  and  threaten- 
ing, all  the  signs  menacing,  Mr.  Hilyard  became  terrified  and  would 
have  no  more  of  it,  saying  that  though  it  was  a  vain  thing,  yet  to 
continue  in  it  might  be  the  sin  of  tempting  Providence,  such  as  that 
committed  by  Saul ;  and  that  as  for  him,  he  would  ask  of  the  stars 
no  more.  Now  if  the  future  they  had  seen  in  this  mirror  of  coming 
time  had  been  bright  and  happy,  would  they  have  ceased  to  inquire  ? 
I  think  not ;  and  strange  it  is  that  this  thing  which  so  many  learned 
men  and  philosophers  teach  us  to  despise,  is  yet  on  occasion  believed 
in  even  by  themselves. 

We  had  many  conversations  upon  these  subjects,  which,  like  the 
tales  of  ghosts,  are  always  curious  to  people  of  every  age  and  rank. 
Mr.  Hilyard,  after  speaking  of  the  practice  among  the  ancients,  one 
day  discoursed  upon  the  common  and  vulgar  methods  practised  by 
people  in  all  countries  and  in  times  ancient  and  modern. 

'  Some,  for  instance,'  he  said,  '  look  in  a  magic  ball  of  glass,  when 
they  see  not  only  the  future  but  also  the  present,  and  what  is  being 
done  in  far  countries.    Others  fill  a  basin  with  water,  and  behold 


iro 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


the  same  as  in  a  mirror.  Others  read  the  future  by  dreams,  and 
others  by  cards  ;  while  by  the  flight  and  number  of  birds,  the  crow- 
ing of  cocks,  the  first  words  heard  in  the  morning,  the  luck  of  the 
day  is  determined.  Some  have  placed  barley  on  the  letters  of  the 
alphabet,  and  noted  the  order  in  which  a  fowl  will  pick  up  the  ears.' 

'  My  maid  J enny,'  I  said,  '  reads  fortunes  by  the  hand.' 

'  It  is  palmistry,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  and  a  most  curious  art, 
though,  like  the  rest,  it  is  vain  and  useless  ;  while,  it  hath  been 
held  by  some,  the  Lord  hath  stamped  the  future  of  man  upon  every 
feature,  so  that,  if  we  could  learn  it,  we  might  read  in  the  curve  of 
an  eyebrow,  the  lines  of  the  lips,  the  turn  of  the  chin,  a  sure  and 
certain  prognostic  of  what  will  happen  to  us  before  we  die.  With 
your  permission,  Miss  Dorothy,  we  will  examine  the  girl  in  this 
matter.' 

Jenny  was  called,  and  I  asked  her  first  to  read  my  hand.  She 
replied,  looking  ashamed,  that  she  had  read  it  many  times  ;  but 
when  I  commanded  her  to  tell  me  what  she  saw  there,  she  hesitated 
and  changed  colour,  and  then  replied,  like  a  gipsy  at  a  fair  when 
you  cross  her  hand  with  a  groat,  that  there  was  a  fair  young  gentle- 
man of  a  great  estate,  and  that  she  saw  a  wedding-ring  and  happi- 
ness as  long  as  a  summer  day,  with  beautiful  children.  But  it  was 
manifest  that  she  said  what  she  thought  would  please  me.  Then 
Mr.  Hilyard  bade  her  look  at  Mr.  Frank's  hand,  into  which  she 
peered  long  and  with  a  strange  curiosity.  After  a  while  she 
dropped  his  hand,  and  turned  to  Mr.  Hilyard,  saying  : 

'  Now  yours,  sir,'  and  read  it  glibly  as  if  from  a  book,  saying, 
*  The  line  of  life  is  long,  but  the  course  of  love  is  crossed.  There 
is  wealth  for  you,  and  honour  ;  but  no  wife  and  no  children.  No 
one  hath  everything.' 

'  But  mine,'  cried  Frank, — '  what  is  mine  ?' 

But  she  replied  not,  running  away.  When  afterwards  I  rebuked 
her,  she  acknowledged  that  she  could  not  tell  him  what  she  read,  so 
bad  and  unlucky  it  was.  She  also  told  me  that  her  grandmother,  the 
old  gipsy  woman  of  whom  I  have  spoken,  had  also  told  the  fortune 
of  Mr.  Frank  by  cards,  and  that  it  came  the  same  as  her  own  telling, 
Avhich  made  me  marvel. 

'  Ask  no  more,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard  ;  '  and  yon,  girl,  keep  these  things 
to  yourself,  else  the  people  will  get  strange  notions  into  their  heads.' 

The  people  had  already  got  into  their  heads  strange  notions.  First 
this  girl  of  mine  had  filled  the  place  with  the  terror  of  the  ghosts 
she  saw.  Next  it  was  said  that  she  was  a  witch,  and  ought  to  be 
thrown  into  a  pond.  Perhaps  that  would  have  been  done,  but  for 
fear  of  us.  Then  it  was  said  that  she  had  bewitched  a  certain  young 
fellow  of  the  place  named  Job  Oliver,  a  hind.  They  told  Mr.  Hil- 
yard that  J ob  would  do  whatever  foolish  things  Jenny  told  him  to 
do  ;  that  he  would  sometimes  rise  when  she  was  not  in  the  company, 
and  say  that  Jenny  called  him,  and  so  go  to  her  ;  that  he  looked  not 
as  he  was  wont  to  look,  but  went  about  with  eyes  distracted  and 
trembling  hands. 


FRANK  RADCLIFFE. 


Ill 


*  She  is  a  witch/  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  ^  just  as  all  women  are  witches  ; 
and  she  hath  bewitched  this  foolish  lad.  But  the  only  arts,  I  think, 
are  those  which  she  practises  in  common  with  all  her  sex,  namely, 
her  eyes  and  her  face.    In  a  word,  the  fellow  is  in  love.' 

I  spoke  to  her  on  the  subject,  and  she  confessed,  though  she 
looked  confused,  that  it  was  as  Mr.  Hilyard  said,  and  that  if  the 
man  chose  to  be  in  love  with  her  she  could  not  help  it ;  perhaps  he 
did  and  said  foolish  things,  but  she  could  not  help  that  either  ;  and 
he  must  do  what  he  pleased.  The  girl  was  saucy  about  it,  but  yet 
one  could  not  reprove  her,  beca,use  it  makes  every  woman  saucy  and 
self-conceited,  when  a  man  is  in  love  with  her.  When  she  crossed 
the  quadrangle  or  entered  any  of  their  houses,  the  people  looked 
askance  and  put  thumb  in  fingers,  but  yet  were  monstrous  civil, 
because  they  feared  her.  Witch  or  not,  she  did  none  of  them  any 
harm  (I  do  not  believe  that  a  pig  which  died  at  this  time  was  over- 
looked by  her,  though  this  was  charged  upon  her).  As  for  Job, 
after  we  went  away  he  presently  recovered,  looked  about  him, 
became  once  more  a  cheerful  wight,  forgot  his  enchantress,  and 
married  another  woman,  who  made  him  happy  in  such  sort  as  rustics 
understand  happiness  ;  that  is  to  say,  every  year  a  thumping  boy  or 
girl,  and  every  Sunday  a  great  dish  of  fat  bacon.  And  as  for  Jenny 
herself,  she  paid  no  heed  to  what  was  thought,  but  went  about  with 
an  impudent  answer  for  all  except  her  mistress,  and  a  saucy  laugh, 
and  singing  as  she  went,  as  if  there  v/as  no  such  thing  in  the  world 
at  all  as  witchcraft,  and  she  had  no  powers  and  gifts  above  those 
generally  conferred  upon  young  maids — namely,  the  bewitching  of 
eyes  and  face,  soft  speech,  and  lovely  limbs.  Yet  all  the  time  a 
deceitful  hussy.  I  knew  not  then,  though  I  learned  afterwards,  that 
she  met  Frank  Radclijffe  secretly,  and  taught  him,  I  believe,  her  arts 
of  prediction,  and  even  sent  him  to  see  her  wicked  old  grandmother 
(who  I  am  quite  sure  was  another  Witch  of  Endor),  when  the  camp 
came  once  to  Hexham.  What  they  told  him,  between  them,  I  know 
not ;  but  in  the  end  it  became  manifest  what  a  gipsy  woman  can  do 
when  a  young  gentleman  is  foolish  enough  to  listen  to  her  wiles. 

Not  knowing  these  things,  I  begged  Frank  to  give  up  this  pursuit 
of  his,  as  a  useless,  idle,  and  curious  practice.  He  acknowledged 
that  the  priest  gave  him  similar  admonition,  but  yet  that  he  con- 
tinued, though  he  knew  that  he  was  wrong.  Eeligion  forbids  it, 
that  is  most  sure  ;  if  the  art  were  sure  and  certain,  he  is  foolish, 
indeed,  who  seeks  to  know  the  coming  misery,  or  anticipates  the 
coming  happiness.  Let  us  only  live  in  the  present,  looking  f  orwa-rd 
with  sure  and  certain  hope  to  the  life  where  there  will  be  no  shed- 
ding of  tears  or  thought  of  trouble.  Why  could  not  Frank  let  the 
future  alone?  The  present,  which  he  spoiled  by  this  curiosity, 
should  have  been  to  him  full  of  happiness,  because  he  had  everything 
that  the  world  has  to  give — youth,  health,  strength,  riches,  and  a 
good  heart.    What  more  doth  God  give  to  any  ? 

*  Why,'  said  Frank,  '  what  am  I  to  do  ?  There  is  nothing  in  this 
country  for  a  Catholic  gentleman  to  do.  We  may  not  hold  commis- 


112 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


sions  in  the  army  ;  we  cannot  act  as  magistrates  ;  we  cannot  enter 
the  Universities  ;  we  cannot  go  into  Parliament  ;  we  can  hold  no 
office,  and  are  cut  off  from  all  employment.  What  wonder  if  some 
of  us  sit  down  to  drink  and  hunt,  and  nothing  more  ?  Why  should 
the  country  be  afraid  of  a  handful  of  gentlemen  who  have  kept  their 
old  faith  ? 

Truly  it  was  a  hard  case  ;  yet  what  to  do  ?  We  must  not  have 
the  Pope's  subjects  in  our  Houses  of  Parliament. 

*  Well,'  he  went  on,  '  what  am  I  to  do  with  myself  ?  I  am  a 
younger  son,  with  a  younger  son's  portion — enough,  but  not  great 
riches.  You  have  shut  up  all  the  doors  ;  you  treat  us  with 
suspicion  and  contempt ;  you  call  us  Papists.  I  knew  not  till  we 
came  home  how  despised  a  creature  is  an  English  Catholic' 

'  Nay,'  I  said,  for  the  young  man  had  worked  himself  into  a 
passion,  and  the  tears  were  in  his  eyes,  'you  have  but  to  ride 
through  any  village  in  Northumberland  to  see  the  contempt  with 
which  a  RadcliiLC  is  regarded.  Fie,  Master  Frank  !  you  have  been 
abroad  so  long  that  you  know  not  the  English  heart.  It  may  be, 
as  you  say,  that  the  Catholics  are  excluded  from  civil  rights.  Is  it 
not  because  it  is  believed  that  you  love  Pope  first  and  King  second  ? 
But  it  cannot  be  that  there  is  nothing  for  you  to  do.' 

'  Oh  yes,'  he  said  bitterly,  '  there  is  always  something.  I  may  go 
to  Douay,  and  so  presently  come  back  with  shaven  crown,  and  even 
be  made  some  day,  if  I  am  fortunate,  a  Bishop  in partihus.^ 

All  this  was  true.  There  were  here  three  brothers  rich  in  gifts 
and  graces.  The  eldest  should  have  been  a  great  statesman,  the 
second  a  great  scholar,  and  the  third  a  soldier. 

Yet  because  their  grandfather  chose  to  remain  in  the  old  religion, 
when  the  people  were  ordered  to  change  for  the  new  (because  it  is 
foolish  to  suppose  that  all  the  country  gentlemen  and  the  very 
rustics  and  hinds  had  wit  and  learning  wherewith  to  argue  for  or 
against  the  faith),  they  were  all  condemned  to  idleness.  Wherefore 
the  eldest,  who  had  the  estates,  the  wealth,  and  the  power,  resolved 
on  spending  his  life  in  good  works,  and  the  advancement  of  th^j 
poor  committed  to  his  trust ;  and  the  second  became  melancholy, 
and  troubled  himself  about  things  hidden  from  mankind  ;  and  tho 
third — he  was  only  a  boy  as  yet — was  going  to  become  a  beau,  and 
to  follow  all  the  pleasures  of  the  town.  Why,  what  a  waste  of 
gifts  was  here  !    And  all  for  the  Mass  which  stood  between. 

'  As  for  my  lord,'  said  Tom,  '  he  is  very  well.  He  rides  as 
straight  as  can  be  expected.  His  shooting  will  improve,  and  no 
doubt  he  will  learn  to  put  his  money  on  matches  and  fights,  though 
at  present  he  cares  little  about  such  sport.  And  as  for  Charles,  it 
is  a  promising  boy  and  well-plucked.  But  as  for  Frank,  he  does 
nothing  at  all  ;  he  will  neither  laugh,  nor  sing,  nor  drink,  nor  hunt 
— what  is  to  be  done  with  him  V  Tony,  he  loves  your  company. 
Can  you  make  nothing  of  him  ?  Can  you  not  even  make  him 
drink  ?' 

'  Indeed,  sir,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  the  English  law  opens  to  a 


FRANK  RADCLIFFE. 


113 


young  gentleman  who  is  a  Papist  no  oppoii^unity  at  all  for  distinc- 
tion. He  must  therefore  either  be  made  a  priest  or  remain  a 
sportsman.  He  has  his  choice  between  a  saint  and  a  cock-fighter. 
Mr.  Frank,  though  born  to  be  a  scholar,  has  little  calling  to  the 
saintly  profession,  and  none  at  all  for  cock-fighting.  So  that  unless 
he  changes  his  disposition  or  his  creed,  he  is  likely  to  remain  in  his 
present  melancholy. 

*  As  for  the  cure  of  melancholy,'  Mr.  Hilyard  went  on,  '  there 
are  many  things  enumerated  by  the  learned  Burton.  Borage,  for 
instance,  or  bugloss,  of  which  Helena's  famous  bowl  was  made, 
after  drinking  which  she  felt  no  grief  or  remorse  ;  marigold,  put 
into  broth  ;  hop,  which  may  be  infused  into  ale,  and  taken  by 
melancholy  men  with  advantage  ;  betony,  the  root  of  which  is 
sovereign  for  the  causing  of  mirth  ;  penny-royal,  wormwood,  and 
other  herbs,  any  of  which  may  be  taken  by  Mr.  Francis  without 
fear.' 

'  G-ive  him,'  said  Tom,  '  a  bowl  of  punch  after  a  day's  hunting  ; 
make  him  dance  after  a  pretty  woman.  A  fig  for  all  your  herbs, 
and  broths,  and  messes,  Tony  !  Betony  for  the  causing  of  mirth  ! 
Why,  then,  to-night,  instead  of  whisky  punch  you  may  have  a  mess 
of  betony.' 

But  Frank  Radcliffe's  case  was  beyond  the  reach  of  herbs,  and 
not  even  a  bowl  of  punch  would  help — partly  because  he  could  not 
drink  punch. 

I  spoke  about  him  to  my  lord,  who  owned  that  he  could  do 
nothing  for  his  brother. 

'  There  is  among  us  a  strain  of  melancholy.  My  uncle,  Thomas 
E-adcliffe,  hath  it,  and  cannot  be  cured,  though  he  wears  a  chalcedony 
in  a  ring,  and  hath  taken  medicines  of  all  kinds,  both  simple  and 
mineral,  yet  none  to  cure  him.  I  doubt  not  Frank  will  be  like 
him.  Yet  it  is  a  good  sign  that  he  sometimes  leaves  the  library  to 
come  here.  The  law,  of  which  he  justly  complains,  is  hard  upon 
us  all.  Yet  we  cannot  alter  it  by  crying.  The  Jesuit  Fathers 
made  of  him  a  great  scholar,  and  wanted  to  make  him  one  of  them- 
selves, and  in  the  end  a  priest — nay,  perhaps  a  Bishop,  or  even  a 
Cardinal.  Higher  than  th?vt  one  need  not  look  unless  one  is  an 
Italian,  when  the  Triple  Crown  itself  of  Christ's  Yicar  on  earth  is 
possible.  It  is  long  since  we  had  a  Bishop  in  the  family,  and  a 
Cardinal  never.  But  if  Frank  will  not,  he  must  content  himself 
with  having  such  amusements  as  he  can  find  for  himself  which  will 
please  a  simple  scholar  and  a  private  gentleman.  He  will  grow 
wiser  and  merrier  in  time  as  he  grows  older.  Meantime,  we  are 
as  yet  strangers  in  the  country,  and  have  much  to  learn.  For  the 
people  are  not  like  the  people  whence  we  have  come  ;  the  gentle- 
men are  not  like  those  at  St.  Germain's  ;  the  ladies  are  not  like 
those  my  mother  (who  hath  never  seen  the  north)  taught  me  to 
expect — namely,  hoops  and  patches  and  courtesies  and  fine  sayings, 
instead  of  Arcadian  shepherdesses,  and  the  charms  of  Nature— and 
fair  Dorothy. 


114 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


Alas !  To  think  that  the  melancholy  of  this  unhappy  young 
gentleman  was  caused  by  so  humble  and  insignificant  a  person  as 
my  maid  Jenny.  Yet,  strange  as  it  seems,  there  is,  in  fact,  no 
person  in  the  world  so  humble  and  so  insignificant — not  even  a 
shepherd  boy,  a  hind,  a  stable-help,  a  scullion— but  he  can  do 
mischief.  The  story  how  one  was  so  desirous  to  achieve  fame  and 
so  helpless  by  himself,  being  dull  of  understanding  and  unlearned, 
that  he  was  fain  to  fire  and  destroy  the  noblest  temple  in  Asia 
Minor,  the  ruins  of  which  remain  to  this  day,  and  have  been  seen 
by  travellers,  is,  I  think,  an  allegory. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

CHRISTMAS  EVE, 

Now  I  come  to  tell  of  a  fortnight  of  so  much  happiness  that  I  can 
never  forget  it,  or  tire  of  remembering  it.  Every  day — nay,  every 
hour  of  that  happy  time,  lives  still  in  my  mind,  though  it  is  now 
nearly  thirty  years  ago,  and  I,  who  was  then  eighteen,  am  now 
well-nigh  fifty,  and  am  no  more  beautiful.  This  matters  not,  and 
before  long,  if  it  please  merciful  Heaven,  I  shall  be  beautiful  again. 
This  time  was  so  happy  to  me  because  it  changed  an  admirer  into  a 
lover,  and  a  woman  who  waits  for  love  into  a  woman  who  has 
received  love.  Call  me  not  an  old  maid,  I  pray  you,  though  I  am 
no  vfedded  wife  and  mother  of  a  husband's  children,  because  I  ha\?e 
enjoyed  the  love  of  a  man  and  exchanged  with  him  those  sweet 
endearments  which  are  innocent  and  lawful  between  a  young  man 
and  a  maid  who  love  each  other.  She  alone  is  an  old  maid  who 
hath  never  been  wooed  ;  into  whose  eyes  no  lover  hath  gazed  to 
rob  her  of  her  heart ;  whose  hands  have  never  been  pressed  ;  whose 
ears  have  never  listened  to  the  fond  exaggerations  with  which  a 
lover  pleads  his  passion,  and  tries  to  tell  how  great  and  deep  it  is, 
though  words  fail.  But,  as  for  me,  I  have  been  loved  by  many, 
and  I  have  loved  one — yea,  I  have  loved  him— alas  !  alas  ! — with 
all  my  heart  and  with  all  my  soul ;  yet,  I  hope  and  pray,  with 
innocency  of  heart,  so  that  this  my  passion  may  not  be  laid  to  my 
charge,  for  though  I  loved  him  well,  I  loved,  or  tried  to  love,  my 
God  better.    And  this,  too,  I  will  show  you. 

The  time  was  Christmas.  My  lord  kept  open  house  at  Dikton 
for  his  friends  and  cousins,  as  many  as  chose  to  come  (but  he 
invited  Tom  and  me)  ;  his  farmers  and  tenants,  and  all  the  poor 
people  around,  even  counting  those  of  Hexham,  so  generous  he  was. 
During  all  the  time  from  Christmas  to  Candlemas  there  was  nothing 
but  the  roasting  of  beef  and  the  eating  of  it,  with  the  drinking  of 
ale  and  everydiiy  amusements  such  as  men  of  all  sorts  and  conditions 
love  :  as  quartcrstaff,  cudgels,  wrestling,  fighting  with  dogs  and 
cocks,  and  so  forth  ;  the  people  of  the  town  flocking  to  see  it — the 
gentlemen  not  ashamed  of  getting  a  bloody  crown  from  a  rustic 
champion  ;  the  rustics  proud  to  prove  their  mettle  before  the  gen- 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 


115 


tlemen,  and  pleased  to  drink  to  them  afterwards.  A  busy  and 
lively  time— the  maids  running  about  to  see  the  shows,  and  more 
eager  to  witness  a  wrestling-match  than  to  do  the  dairy  work  ;  the 
grooms  talking  and  playing  with  the  girls,  and  no  one  reproaching 
them  ;  no  one  zealous  for  work  but  the  cooks  and  serving- women, 
who  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  poor  souls,  continually  roasting,  boiling, 
laying  of  cloths,  bringing  of  meat,  carving  it  for  hungry  men, 
caiTying  pails  of  beer  and  pouring  it  out  into  the  brown  jugs  with 
their  great  heads  of  foam.  Yet  none  grumbled  :  the  more  they 
served  the  merrier  they  became.  Cooks  are  only  happy  when  they 
are  at  work  ;  between  whiles  they  are  irritable,  short  of  temper, 
and  grumbling  at  the  hardships  of  their  lots  and  the  shortcomings 
of  scullions.  But  when  they  are  bending  over  stew-pots  and 
griddles,  they  are  truly  happy.  Perhaps  a  sense  of  the  blessings  of 
plenty  at  such  times  is  felt  by  their  souls,  so  that,  in  a  way  we 
little  regard,  they  may  be  lifted  upward  by  the  contemplation  of  a 
rib  or  sirloin,  with  fat  and  lean  in  goodly  show.  I  have  seen  a 
cook  gaze  upon  a  leg  of  mutton  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  as  one  who 
hears  a  sweet  strain  of  music,  or  considers  the  picture  of  a  handsome 
man. 

A  girl  who  goes  on  a  visit  to  so  grand  a  house  as  Dilston,  among 
ladies  who  have  lived  in  London  and  gentlemen  who  know  the 
splendours  of  a  Court,  is  naturally  troubled  about  her  clothes,  and 
thinks  a  great  deal  beforehand  of  the  fine  things  she  has  to  show. 
It  would  have  gone  hard  with  me,  whose  frocks  were  all  of  country- 
make  and  most  of  rough  and  cheap  material  (my  petticoats  for 
daily  wear  of  homespun),  but  for  the  late  visit  of  Lady  Crewe. 
For  I  had  no  pin-money  of  my  own,  or  any  allowance  from  my 
father,  who  considered  that  I  now  belonged  to  Tom  and  her  lady- 
ship. Fortunately  I  am  clever  with  my  needle,  and  so  was  my 
maid  J enny.  Tom,  poor  fellow,  had  no  money  to  give,  because  he 
spent  it  all  in  his  amusements  ;  all,  that  is,  which  he  got  from 
Durham.  Besides,  most  men,  though  they  are  careful  about  their 
flowered  waistcoats  and  gold  beickles,  seem  to  think  that  for  women 
brocade  grows  wild  on  every  hedge,  and  satin  hangs  in  rolls  from 
ev-ery  tree.  Now  before  she  went  away  Lady  Crewe  called  me  to 
her  room,  and  then,  after  causing  me  to  be  measured  (v/hich  showed 
that  we  were  both  of  a  height),  she  brought  out  a  great  parcel  of 
fine  things — treasures,  they  seemed  to  me — saying  kindly  : 

'  Child,  the  granddaughter  of  Sir  William  Forster,  of  Bam- 
borough,  should  be  able  to  go  as  fine  as  her  neighbom^s.  Since  thy 
brother  loves  to  have  thee  with  him,  it  shall  be  the  care  of  thy 
mother's  sister  to  see  thee  dressed  becomingly  on  occasion,  so  that 
no  one,  gentle  or  simple,  may  think  that  a  Forster  is  not  as  good  a 
lady  as  any  in  the  county.' 

Had  it  not  been  for  this  munificent  gift,  v/hich  came  in  pudding- 
time,  so  to  speak,  I  should  have  gone  to  Dilston  crying  instead  of 
laughing,  because  my  petticoats  were  so  short  and  my  best  frock  so 
shabby.    Alas !  we  grow  old,  and  fine  things,  which  once  set  ofi: 

8-2 


ii6 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


rosy  cheeks  and  bright  eyes,  only  serve  now  to  hide  the  ravages  of 
time. 

So  that,  thanks  to  the  kindness  of  Lady  Crewe,  I  could  reflect 
without  dismay  upon  the  grand  dresses  of  the  ladies  Katharine  and 
Mary  ;  and  though  the  day  on  which  we  rode  across  the  dark  moor 
to  Dilston  was  so  cold,  with  a  driving  sleet  and  a  bitter  wind,  that 
my  horse  was  led  and  my  face  kept  covered  with  a  hood,  my  heart 
was  quite  warm  when  I  remembered  that  on  one  of  the  pack-horses 
behind  (I  was  fain  to  brave  the  blast  in  order  to  look  back  and  see 
that  the  animal  had  not  been  blown  away)  were  safely  packed  my 
silk-quilted  petticoat,  altered  to  fit  my  waist,  and  none  could  tell 
that  it  was  not  new  ;  my  French  girdle,  very  pretty  ;  my  sable 
tippet  lined  with  Italian  lute-string  ;  my  velvet  frock,  made  for 
Lady  Crewe  in  London  by  a  Court  dressmaker,  and  very  cunningly 
altered  for  me  by  Jenny — that  girl  should  have  made  her  fortune 
in  dressmaking  ;  my  cambric  and  laced  handkerchiefs,  laced  tuckers 
and  rufiies,  French  kid  gloves  very  fine  (Tom  gave  me  these,  having 
bought  them  at  Newcastle  one  day  when  he  rode  and  won  a  match 
of  twenty  pounds  a  side)  ;  my  satin  apron  ;  my  French  a-la-mode 
hood  ;  my  petticoat  and  mantua  of  French  brocade  ;  my  cherry- 
coloured  stays  ;  and,  for  morning  wear,  my  frocks  of  painted  lawn, 
checkered  shade,  and  watered  tabby.  As  for  my  head-dress,  I  had 
considered  this  important  subject  with  Jenny,  and  resolved  that  I 
would  wear  (as  most  suitable  for  my  age  and  unmarried  condi- 
tion) a  low  coiffure,  with  falling  lappets,  such  as  J enny  could  easily 
arrange,  even  though  the  elder  ladies  should  think  fit  to  appear 
every  day  in  high  commodes.  I  was  also  happy  in  the  possession 
of  an  etui^  which  had  been  my  grandmother's — a  vastly  pretty 
thing,  with  a  gold  watch,  and  places  for  scissors,  knife,  pencil,  ivory 
tablets,  box  for  thimble,  another  for  aromatic  vinegar,  and  a  third 
for  perfume  (my  favourite  was  from  childhood  the  same  as  Lady 
Crewe's,  namely,  bergamot),  and  a  multitude  of  pretty,  old-fashioned 
things  worked  in  gold,  such  as  little  birdcages,  eggs,  tiny  anchors, 
and  so  forth,  and  a  seal  with  the  family  coat  of  arms  and  the 
Forster  legend  : 

*  Let  us  dearly  then  hold 
To  mind  their  worthiness, 
That  which  our  parents  old 
Hath  left  us  to  possess.* 

Enough  said  of  a  simple  girl's  finery,  though  in  truth  it  made  me 
happy  at  the  time  to  think  that  I  could  stand  among  great  ladies 
and  not  be  ashamed  of  my  homely  dress.  Perhaps  it  makes  me 
happy  still  (or  rather  less  sorrowful)  to  remember  the  things  which 
caused  my  first  happiness.  Mr.  Hilyard  (he  came  with  us)  says 
that  a  great  Italian  poet  declares  that  the  memory  of  past  gladness 
makes  more  sad  the  present  sorrow.  It  is  presumptuous  to  set  up 
an  opinion  against  a  poet ;  but  this  is  very  certain,  that  there  is  one 
woman  to  whom  all  her  consolation  (besides  the  hope  of  the  future) 
lies  in  the  memory  of  the  past.    Why  is  joy,  which  comes  so  rarely 


CHRISTMAS  EVE, 


117 


and  flies  so  swiftly,  given  to  men  except  to  be  a  lasting  memory 
and  consolation  ?  The  summer  of  our  North  Country  is  short,  and 
the  winter  is  long  ;  j^et  all  the  year  round  we  think  of  the  sunshine, 
and  in  the  cold  winter  eat  with  gratitude  the  fruits  and  harvests 
of  the  summer.  So  should  it  be  with  our  hours,  days,  or  years  of 
happiness.  In  the  cold  winter  which  follows — love  fled,  friends 
dead,  fortune  lost,  pride  destroyed — our  hearts  should  be  warmed 
and  our  pains  consoled  by  the  mere  thinking  upon  the  vanished 
joys,  just  as  I  still  think  upon  my  stay  at  Dilston.  Shall  not  an 
old  man  comfort  himself  with  thinking  of  his  former  strength,  and 
an  old  woman  with  the  thought  of  her  former  beauty  ?  I  myself, 
being  now  in  middle  life  and  no  longer  comely,  remember  with 
grateful  joy  that  my  beauty  once  gave  pleasure  to  all  who  looked 
upon  it,  loveliness  in  woman  being,  like  the  gracious  sunshine,  a 
gift  for  all  alike,  even  to  those  who  value  it  least  and  are  insensible 
to  its  delight.  To  be  sure,  in  those  days  I  knew  nothing  of  the 
pleasure  which  all  men  feel,  rich  and  poor,  young  and  old  alike, 
though  some  are  more  insensible  than  others,  in  the  contemplation 
of  a  lovely  woman,  so  that  some  have  beautiful  faces  painted  on 
their  snuff-boxes,  and  do  gaze  upon  them  constantly,  even  to  the 
wasting  of  their  time  and  the  troubling  of  their  heads,  as  the  Greek 
gazed  upon  and  fell  in  love  with,  and  pined  for,  his  statue,  until 
Venus  changed  the  marble  into  flesh  ;  though  ic  hath  never  been 
related  that  a  miracle  was  wrought  with  a  snuff-box,  and  one  has 
never  heard  that  a  painted  face  has  been  transf orm^ed  into  a  beau- 
teous damsel. 

Well,  Dilston  was  reached  at  last,  after  that  cold  ride  ;  and  you 
may  be  sure  that  Tom  Forster  bawled  lustily  for  hot  mulled  ale. 
We  found  the  castle  full  of  the  Radcliffes,  and  all  the  great  house 
astir  with  guests  and  servants  and  preparations  for  the  feast. 

My  expectations  proved  true.  The  ladies  Katharine  and  Mary 
were  richly  dressed  indeed  ;  yet  with  something  sombre  and  nun- 
like, as  was  said  to  be  affected  by  Madame  de  Maintenon,  the 
French  King's  wife.  The  gentlemen  were  dressed  in  the  plain 
Northumberland  fashion,  except  the  Earl  and  his  two  brothers,  who, 
after  the  manner  in  which  they  were  brought  up,  dressed  with 
great  richness  ;  even  Charles,  the  youngest — who  was  not  yet  at  his 
full  height,  and  only  fifteen  years  of  age,  and  wore  his  own  hair 
tied  behind  with  a  crimson  ribbon — had  a  silk  coat,  a  flowered 
waistcoat,  white  silk  stockings,  and  red-heeled  shoes.  Everybody 
was  so  good  as  to  compliment  me  on  the  appearance  which  I 
made.  Even  the  ladies  kindly  said  that  though  my  maid  was  only 
a  country  girl,  she  had  so  dressed  my  hair  as  to  give  it  a  modish 
look,  and  that  no  one  could  have  looped  my  frock  better,  or  shown 
a  richer  petticoat. 

'  It  is  the  first  Christmas  we  have  spent  at  home,'  said  the  Earl. 
*  We  must  forget  none  of  the  old  customs  of  the  country.  Besides, 
they  are  all  Catholic  customs,  which  is  another  reason  for  keeping 
them  up.' 


ii8 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


*  Mr.  Hilyard,  my  lord,'  I  said,  '  will  have  it  that  many  of  these 

are  pagan,  though  transferred  to  Catholicism,  and  long  ago  adopted 
by  the  Church.' 

He  laughed,  and  called  me  an  obstinate  little  Puritan. 

The  supper  was  served  in  the  great  hall,  decked  with  holly  and 
mistletoe  ;  a  Yule-log  was  blazing  upon  the  hearth  ;  the  side- tables 
were  dazzling  with  the  Radcliffe  plate  ;  and  the  tables  were  covered 
with  Yule-cakes,  which  are,  in  the  north,  shaped  like  a  baby,  and 
Christmas  pies  in  form  of  a  cradle,  not  to  speak  of  goose-pies,  shrid 
or  mince  pies,  caraway-cakes,  brawn,  sirloins,  turkeys,  capons,  hams 
and  gammons,  pheasants,  partridges,  hares,  and  everything  good  and 
fit  for  man's  delight.  When  all  was  ready  and  the  company 
assembled,  they  brought  in  the  boar's  head,  maids  and  men  follow- 
ing, all  lustily  singing — 

*  No  well,  Nowell, 
Tidings  good  I  have  to  tell.' 

There  were  but  moderate  potations  at  the  supper,  but  some  of 
the  gentlemen  made  up  for  it  afterwards  ;  and  when  supper  was 
done,  the  company  all  left  the  table  together  and  sat  down  to  cards, 
which  must  never  be  omitted  on  Christmas  Eve,  if  you  never  touch 
a  card  on  any  other  day.  There  was  a  basset- table,  and  a  quadrille- 
table,  and  a  pool  of  commerce.  I  played  at  the  last  with  my  lord, 
Charles,  and  others  ;  and  I  won  twelve  shillings,  which  made  me 
tremble  to  think  what  I  should  have  done  if  I  had  lost  so  much. 
Indeed,  I  had  not  so  much  as  twelve  shillings  in  the  world.  After 
the  cards  we  played  another  game — everybody  to  say  what  most  he 
loved  and  least  he  liked.  In  such  a  history  as  this  it  would  be  folly 
to  record  how  my  lord  vowed  that  most  he  loved  Dorothy's  smiles, 
and  most  he  dreaded  Dorothy's  frowns.  Nevertheless,  it  must  be 
owned  that  these  compliments  are  pretty  things  ;  they  keep  up  the 
spirits  and  courage  of  a  girl,  and  her  good  opinion  of  herself,  which 
is  a  great  thing.  Mr.  Errington,  of  Beaufront,  who  was  one  of  the 
company,  said  many  pleasant  things,  pretending  to  be  tAventy  years 
younger,  and  to  mistake  me  for  my  aunt,  the  beautiful  Dorothy 
Forster,  whose  suitor  he  had  been.  Of  course  I  knew  that  he 
flattered  me  ;  but  yet  I  was  pleased.  To  have  such  pretty  things 
said  by  so  old  a  man  is  like  a  sweet  golden  russet  of  last  year  in  the 
month  of  April.  As  for  Charles  Eadcliffe,  that  mad  boy  swore 
loudly  that  he  would  be  Miss  Dorothy's  knight,  and  pranced  about 
singing,  with  gestui-es  like  a  Frenchman,  that  sweet  old  song  ; 

*  Charmante  Gabrielle, 

Percd  de  mille  dards, 
Quand  la  gloire  m'appello 

A  la  suite  de  Mars, 
Cruelle  ddpartie  I 

Malheureux  jour  1 
Que  ne  suis  je  sans  via 

Ou  sans  amour  I' 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 


iig 


*  We  are  in  England,  Charles,'  said  his  brother ;  *  we  are  at  home. 
Let  us  have  no  French  songs.' 

For  some  of  the  gentlemen  looked  dissatisfied.  The  language  of 
gallantry  and  compliment  was  not  greatly  to  their  liking,  and  Tom 
even  bm^st  out  a-laughing  at  hearing  his  sister  so  praised  and  com  • 
plimented.  This  made  me  blush  far  more  than  any  compliment. 
One  does  not  expect  of  a  brother  the  praises  and  flatteries  of  a 
suitor  ;  but  at  least  he  should  not  be  wholly  insensible  to  a  sister's 
beauty,  or  laugh  at  men  who  praise  it.  But  then  Tom  always  loved 
his  gun,  his  horse,  his  dog,  and  his  bottle,  better  than  any  woman. 
Presently  he  went  away,  with  most  of  the  others,  to  sit  over  the 
wine,  and  there  were  only  left  my  lord  and  his  brothers,  the  ladies, 
Mr.  Howard,  the  old  priest,  and  Mr.  Errington ;  and  these,  left  to 
themselves,  sat  about  the  fire  and  told  stories  suitable  to  the  time 
of  year. 

Strange,  indeed,  that  men  should  be  so  venturesome  as  to  doubt 
the  truth  of  what  hath  been  most  abundantly  proved  !  Yet  Lord 
Derwentwater  laughed  at  the  stories  of  the  Northumberland  ghosts, 
for  no  other  reason  than  that  they  had  no  ghosts  at  St.  Germain's. 
But  Mr.  Howard,  who  had  lived  in  the  county  before,  and  knew, 
shook  his  head,  and  the  ladies  looked  at  each  other  with  surprise, 
and  Mr.  Enington  solemnly  reproved  this  doubter. 

'  My  lord,'  he  said,  '  there  is  not  a  Northumbrian,  man,  woman, 
or  child,  that  believes  not  in  the  appearance  of  apparitions ;  nay, 
most  of  us  have  ourselves  seen  them.  You  have  spent  your  youth 
in  towns  and  Courts  where,  to  be  sure,  there  is  little  chance  of 
meeting  fairies.  When  j^ou  have  learned  the  savage  wildness  of  the 
moors,  the  solitude  of  the  woods,  and  the  silence  of  the  long  winter 
nights,  you  will  speedily  be  converted,  and  doubt  no  more. 
Northumberland,  without  her  ghosts  and  fairies,  would  be  but  half 
populated.' 

'  Truly,'  said  the  Earl,  '  one  ghost,  methinks,  were  as  efficacious 
as  a  hundred  for  the  conversion  of  a  doubter.' 

He  then  spread  a  cushion  on  the  carpet,  and  sat  or  lay  upon  it  at 
my  feet,  saying  : 

*  In  France  they  call  them  old  wives'  tales.  Let  us  hear  of  our 
North-country  ghosts  from  young  lips.  Tell  us  some  of  your  most 
frightful.  Miss  Dorothy.' 

Thus  invited,  I  was  greatly  confused  ;  but  with  the  assistance  of 
Mr.  Errington,  who  helpf=d  me,  and  suggested  one  history  after  the 
other,  I  boldly  began  upon  the  stories  current  among  the  people,  and 
substantiated  by  evidence  which  cannot  be  denied  :  videlicet^  that  of 
the  persons  who  themselves  have  seen  the  visions  and  appearances 
described. 

The  Earl  knew  nothing.  He  had  been  allowed  to  grow  up  in  a 
most  astonishing  ignorance  of  the  county  ghosts.  As  for  his  brother 
Frank,  he  already  knew  something,  having  perhaps  learned  it  (though 
of  this  I  was  then  ignorant)  of  Jenny  Lee  and  of  others,  being  a 
youth  of  inquiring  mind,  who  asked  questions.    It  was  astonishing 


I20 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


to  think  that  a  Radcliffe  should  grow  to  years  of  manhood  without 
having  heard  even  of  the  Laidly  Worm  of  Spindleston  Heugh,  or 
the  Seeker  of  Dunstanburgh,  or  the  fairies  brought  to  Fawdon  Hill 
by  the  Crusaders,  or  of  King  Arthur  at  Sewingshields,  the  Monk  of 
Blinkburn,  Jeannie  of  Haselrigg,  or  Meg  of  Maldon. 

'  Let  us  all/  said  my  lord,  '  go  seek  in  Dunstanburgh,  and  dig  into 
the  earth  at  Sewingshields.  Yet  stay,  how  would  King  Arthur 
agree  with  the  Prince,  should  both  return  together  ?  Methinks  we 
must  first  consult  his  Highness.    Go  on,  fair  story-teller.' 

Then  I  began  to  tell  of  things  more  certain  ;  not  so  ancient,  and 
witnessed  by  people  still  surviving.  Then  the  two  old  ladies,  who 
knew  better  than  myself  the  stories  of  Northumberland,  nodded 
their  heads,  caught  each  other  by  the  hands,  held  their  breath,  shook 
forefingers  at  their  nephew,  and  asked  in  the  pauses  between  the 
stories,  '  Was  there  ever  before  a  Radcliffe  who  had  to  be  taught 
these  things  at  one-and- twenty  ?'  Pretty  it  was  to  see  how  much 
these  ladies  thought  of  their  nephew,  and  how  their  kind  eyes  rested 
upon  him  with  happiness. 

Also,  while  I  told  my  tales,  I  saw  how  Frank  listened,  with  large 
sad  eyes,  and  sighed,  as  if  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  listening  to  such 
stories,  as  one  who  was  for  ever  considering  how  to  converse  with 
the  dwellers  of  the  other  world.  It  was  plain  that  he  was  ready  to 
believe — ay !  and  even  to  see — whatever  he  was  told.  Of  such  are 
those  who  most  frequently  behold  spectres,  see  visions,  and  have 
strange  dreams.  He  breathed  quickly ;  he  sighed  ;  he  looked  round 
him  as  if  in  the  dark  depths  of  the  great  hall,  and  among  the  figures 
in  armour,  behind  the  tapestry,  there  lurked  the  very  shades  and 
appearances  about  which  we  were  speaking.  As  for  old  Mr.  Erring- 
ton,  he  reminded  me  of  this  story  and  of  that,  filled  up  the  details, 
wagged  his  head,  and,  like  the  Lady  Mary,  shook  his  forefinger  at 
my  lord — the  Didymus  or  Unbeliever.  There  was  also  Mr.  Howard, 
the  priest — an  old  man,  too,  of  venerable  aspect.  He  sat  with  his 
chin  upon  his  hand,  less  occupied  with  the  stories  than  with  gazing 
upon  the  young  lord  of  all,  as  he  lay  at  my  feet,  the  red  light  of  the 
fire  playing  upon  his  face,  which  was  upturned  to  look  upon  mine. 

Simple  things,  yet  terrible,  are  the  omens  and  appearances  in  this 
haunted  county. 

I  trembled  while  I  told  of  the  ghostly  and  shadowy  hearse  which, 
especially  in  the  winter  nights,  rolls  slowly  and  silently — an  awful 
thing  to  see — up  and  down  the  roads  till  it  comes  to  the  house 
where  the  death  is  going  to  happen,  and  how  the  farmer  once  going 
home  from  market  saw  the  hearse  stop  at  his  own  door,  and  knew 
that  one  of  his  family  would  die.  There  were  six  tall  sons,  each 
one  strong  and  brave,  and  three  daughters,  each  one  beautiful ;  and 
there  was  his  wife.  Which  would  be  taken?  The  rest  of  that 
story  is  enough  to  convert  the  greatest  »colfer,  as  well  as  to  turn 
the  sinner  to  repentance.  Then  there  is  the  wauf ,  or  figure  of  the 
person  about  to  die  seen  by  another  person.  Surely  it  is  a  most 
dreadful  thing  to  have  the  power  of  seeing  the  wauf,  for  if  one  sees 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 


121 


it,  there  arises  a  doubt  and  difficult  question :  should  the  person 
who  is  to  die  be  told  of  it,  or  not  ?  If  he  be  told,  he  may  fall  into 
despair ;  and  if  not,  then  a  great  opportunity  of  seeking  grace  for 
the  soul  is  lost.  There  is  also  the  brag,  which  may  assume  what- 
ever shape  it  pleases,  as  a  calf,  or  a  bundle  of  wood,  or  a  hare,  or  a 
rick  of  hay,  or  anything  which  its  tricksy  and  mischievous  imagina- 
tion may  choose  to  order,  to  confound  and  tease  a  poor  man  or 
woman.  And  then  there  are  the  actual  ghosts,  whose  number  is  in 
our  country  legion— such  as  Jethro  Burnet,  the  miser,  who  waJks 
to  lament  the  loss  of  his  money-bags  ;  the  wretch  who  hanged  him- 
self, and  hath  since  found  no  rest ;  the  poor  girl  who  was  murdered, 
and  the  man  who  murdered  her — the  former  beside  the  pool  wherein 
she  was  cast,  and  the  latter  by  the  gibbet,  at  Amble,  where  he  was 
hanged  in  chains ;  Meg  of  Maldon,  who  walks  of  a  night  between 
Maldon  and  Hartington  ;  the  poor  wretched  woman  who  Vv^anders  on 
Hexham  Moor  at  night,  shrieking  and  crying  (at  Blanchland  she 
could  be  heard  plainly  when  the  wind  was  high)  because  she  killed 
her  child  with  neglect,  and  now  suffers — one  knows  not  for  how 
long — this  misery.  All  these  things  were  certainly  intended  for 
our  admonition  and  warning.  Again,  there  are  the  white  figures 
which  sometimes  appear  to  fly  from  under  the  foot  of  the  belated 
traveller  ;  there  is  the  strange  and  well-authenticated  story  of  Nelly 
the  Knocker  ;  that  of  the  Ghost  of  Silky  ;  that  of  the  fairy  changing 
the  little  dwarf  Hobbie ;  how  a  lad  going  forth  one  night  to  walk 
with  his  sweetheart,  found  her  changed  into  the  Devil ;  with  many 
other  strange  and  true  stories,  showing  what  may  be  expected,  and 
hath  already  been  witnessed  in  the  county. 

They  listened,  as  has  been  told.  They  looked  fearfully  about 
the  room.  No  one  thought  that  in  five  short  years  Dilston  Hall 
itself  would  be  left  to  decay,  and,  in  ten  years  more,  another 
mournful  figure  would  be  added  to  the  troop  of  Northumberland 
ghosts. 

'  This,'  said  my  lord,  when  I  finished,  'is  a  fitting  North-country 
termination  of  a  Christmas  feast ;  to  sit  after  supper  and  tell  bug- 
bear tales.  Fair  narrator !  you  have  so  well  done  your  part,  that 
henceforth,  I  promise  you,  I  will  accept  them  all.  I  doubt  no 
longer.  If  I  were  to  meet  Silky  herself,  I  should  not  be  surprised. 
If  I  heard  Nelly  the  Knocker,  or  saw  Meg  of  Maldon  walking  in 
the  corridor,  or  the  ghost  of  my  great-grandmother  ^ 

'Nephew,'  said  Lady  Katharine  gently,  'do  not  mock  ;  the  spirits 
of  our  ancestors  may  be  round  us  at  this  moment,  with  our  guardian 
angels.  Yex  them  not,  lest  when  we  go  to  join  them,  they  meet  us 
with  angry  countenance.' 

'  Enough  of  ghosts,'  said  Mr.  Howard.  *  To-morrow  is  Christmas. 
It  is  always  the  time  to  think  about  the  next  world,  and  sometimes 
we  may  hear  these  tales,  which,  true  or  not,  help  to  keep  faith 
alive  ;  and  these  are  times.  Master  Frank  ' — he  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  boy's  shoulder — 'when  we  must  rejoice  in  the  present,  feast, 
make  other  people  joyful,  and  be  glad  ourselves.' 


122 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

CHRISTMAS  TO  TWELFTH  NIGHT. 

Thus  began  the  Christmas,  which  we  kept  with  such  royal  state. 
It  has  been  stated  that  this  was  a  political  meeting.  Nothing  could 
be  farther  from  the  truth.  There  was  not,  during  the  whole  time, 
one  word  spoken  concerning  politics.  It  is  true  that  my  lord 
treated  Tom  as  a  private  and  especial  friend,  and  showed  him  a 
very  singular  kindness  throughout.  It  is  also  true  that  no  two 
gentlemen  could  be  more  unlike  each  other  than  these  two ;  for, 
while  one  was  well  read  and  loved  books,  the  other  knew  little  save 
what  he  had  been  taught,  and  read  nothing  but  Quincy's  '  Dispen- 
satory,' and  his  book  on  '  Farriery.'  Also,  one  loved  the  society  of 
ladies,  and  the  other  did  not ;  one  cared  nothing  for  drinking, 
which  to  the  other  was  his  chief  delight ;  one  loved  poetry  and 
music,  which  to  the  other  gave  little  or  no  pleasure.  One  went 
habited  with  due  regard  to  his  rank,  having  a  valet  to  dress  him  ; 
the  other  was  careless  of  his  dress,  generally  going  about,  on  his 
shooting  and  other  business,  in  great  boots  and  a  plain  plush  coat, 
stained  with  wine  and  weather. 

'  Friendship,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  commonly  with  youn'g  men,  goes 
by  opposites.  If  Jonathan  resembled  his  father,  he  had  nothing  of 
David's  disposition  in  him  ;  yet  were  they  friends  in  youth.  The 
great  Coligny  and  his  malignant  enemy.  Guise,  were  once  close 
fiiends,  each  admiring  points  of  unlikeness.  Perhaps  my  lord  and 
Mr.  Forster  admire  also,  each  in  the  other,  points  of  unlikeness.' 

Although  the  party  consisted  both  of  Catholics  and  Protestants, 
there  were  no  discussions  on  that  account ;  for,  in  Northumberland, 
so  many  families  still  belong  to  the  old  religion  that  we  can  meet 
each  other  without  quarrelling.  It  must  not,  therefore,  be  thrown 
in  Tom's  face  that  he  was  a  secret  friend  of  Papists.  This  has  been 
said  of  him  with  injustice.  In  truth,  there  was  never  a  stouter 
Protestant,  though  his  lawful  Sovereign  belongs,  unhappily,  to  the 
opposite  faith.  Yet  so  tolerant  withal.  '  Each,'  he  would  say,  '  for  - 
his  own  religion.  Live  and  let  live.  But  not  to  meddle  with  the 
endowments  of  the  Church  or  to  suffer  Papists  and  Nonconformists 
to  enter  into  the  Universities.' 

On  the  evening  of  Christmas  Day  there  was  performed  for  our 
pleasure  the  old  play  of  '  Alexander  and  the  Egyptian  King,'  by 
village  mummers  from  Hexham  and  Dilston.  The  mummers  were 
dressed  up  with  ribbons  and  finery  in  rags  and  tatters  ;  on  their 
heads  they  wore  gilt-paper  crowns  ;  they  carried  swords,  and  had  a 
fiddler  with  them  who  played  lustily  all  the  time,  whether  the 
speakers  were  delivering  their  words  or  not. 

First  came  the  great  King  Alexander — he  was  a  blacksmith  by 
trade,  and  a  very  big  and  lusty  fellow,  who  wore  a  splendid  crown 
of  gilt  paper  and  a  rusty  breastplate  ;  he  flourished  a  sword  and 
marched  valiantly,  strutting  like  a  game-cock  after  a  fight.  Then 


CHRISTMAS  TO  TWELFTH  NIGHT  123 


he  pronounced  his  verses,  and  brave  verses  il^^ey  were,  though  after- 
wards he  quite  forgot  that  he  had  promised  to  produce  for  us  Dives 
and  a  Doctor.  The  Doctor  came  in  due  course,  but  we  looked  in 
vain  for  Dives,  and  a  great  moral  lesson  was  lost.  Everybody  would 
like  to  be  rich,  yet  few  know  the  danger  of  riches  or  their  own 
weakness  in  temptation.  After  him  came  the  King  of  Egypt  and 
his  son  Prince  George  ;  the  King  was  stricken  in  years,  and  some- 
what bent  by  rheumatism  and  his  trade,  that  of  shoe-mending  ;  but 
the  Prince  was  a  lad  whom  I  knew  for  as  famous  a  hand  with  cudgel 
or  quarterstaff  as  one  may  hope  to  see  at  a  country  fair.  There 
was  no  reason  why  he  should  wish  to  fight  Alexander,  yet  it  seemed 
natural  that  they  should,  immediately  on  meeting,  hurl  words  of 
reproach  at  each  other  and  fly  to  arms.  A  most  terrible  and  bloody 
fight  it  was  which  followed,  the  combatants  thwacking  and  hacking 
at  each  other  in  such  earnest  as  made  one  tremble,  save  for  the 
thought  that  the  swords  were  but  stout  ash-twigs  painted  blue,  fitter 
to  raise  great  weals  than  make  deep  cuts.  The  fiddler,  meantime, 
ran  round  the  pair,  shouting  while  he  played  ;  and  the  King,  so  far 
from  feeling  terror  for  his  son,  clapped  his  hands  and  applauded,  as 
we  all  did.  It  was  arranged  that  Prince  George  was  to  be  killed, 
but  such  was  his  stubborn  nature  that  he  refused  to  lie  down  until 
the  great  conqueror,  a  much  heavier  man  than  he,  had  first  covered 
him  from  top  to  toe  with  blows  and  bruises.  When  at  length  he 
lay  down,  the  Doctor  was  called  in.  This  learned  man,  who  was 
the  clerk  of  the  parish,  impudently  asserted  his  ability  to  cure  all 
diseases,  and,  in  proof,  restored  the  Prince  to  life.  Then  there  was 
another  duello  between  the  King  and  the  conqueror  :  the  reason  of 
which  I  did  not  understand,  save  that  it  enabled  the  cobbler  to  show 
under  what  unhappy  conditions  one  bent  with  his  trade  has  to  fight. 
It  needs  not  to  say  that  the  cobbler,  too,  fell  beneath  great  Alex- 
ander's sword.    They  bore  away  his  body,  and  all  was  over. 

'  But  where  is  Dives  ?'  cried  my  lord.    '  You  promised  Dives.' 

The  actors  looked  at  one  another,  and  presently  the  blacksmith 
plucked  up  courage  to  explain  that  there  never  was  any  Dives  in 
the  piece  at  all,  though  it  was  true  that  he  was  regularly  promised 
in  the  prologue  or  opening  verses. 

'Well,'  said  my  lord,  'we  will  excuse  the  Dives  for  this  once  ; 
and  thank  you,  actors  all,  for  a  merry  tragical  piece,  in  which  I 
know  not  whether  most  to  admire  the  skill  of  Alexander  or  the 
courage  of  the  King  who  dared  to  meet  him.  Stand  aside,  good 
fellows,  and  let  us  go  on  to  the  next  show.' 

Then  followed  the  singers  and  choristers  of  Hexham,  who  were 
ordered  to  sing  none  but  true  North-country  songs,  of  which  we 
have  many,  and  our  people  sing  them  prettily  and  in  tune,  some- 
times one  taking  treble,  and  another  a  second,  and  a  third  tenor  or 
bass,  and  all  with  justness,  according  to  time  and  tune  very  melo- 
diously, the  like  of  which,  I  think,  will  not  be  found  elsewhere, 
save  in  cathedrals,  such  as  Durham  and  other  places,  where  anthems 
are  sung.    My  lord  confessed  that  he  had  never  heard  anything  like 


124 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


this  rustic  singing  in  France,  where  the  peasants  sing  on  holidays  ; 
but  not,  as  our  people  sing,  with  gravity  and  earnestness.  First 
they  sang  the  song  of  '  The  Knight  and  the  Lady  ' ; 

*  There  was  a  lady  of  the  North  Countrie 

(Lay  the  bent  to  the  bonny  broom), 
And  she  had  lovely  daughters  three 
(Lay  the  bent  to  the  bonny  broom).* 

After  that  they  sang  the  '  Battle  of  Otterbourne  ' ;  then  the  '  Fair 
Flower  of  Northumberland '  ;  and  then  the  ballad  of  '  Jock  o'  the 
Side'  ;  and,  last,  the  'Jolly  Huntsman's  Garland,'  beginning : 

*  I  walked  o'er  the  mountains, 

"Where  shepherds  feed  theh  flocks  ; 
I  spy'd  a  troop  of  gallants 

A-hunting  of  the  fox. 
With  clamour  and  with  hollow 

They  made  the  woods  to  ring ; 
The  hounds  they  bravely  follow, 

Making  a  merry  din.' 

All  the  gentlemen  in  the  company  applauded  this  song  loudly, 
and  with  a  '  Whoop  !'  and  '  Yiew  hollo  !'— no  talk  of  fox-hunting, 
or  song  in  its  praise,  is  complete  without.  They  knew  every  verse 
out  of  the  thirty  or  forty,  and  the  histories,  some  of  "which  were 
entertaining,  of  the  gentlemen  in  honour  of  whom  the  song  was 
written.  Nothing  is  more  delightful  to  one  fox-hunter  than  to  talk 
or  hear  of  another. 

There  were  other  songs,  and  then  all  were  regaled  with  a  present 
in  money  and  a  plentiful  supper  of  what  they  most  love  at  Christ- 
mastide — namely,  a  mighty  dish  of  lobscouse,  which  is  a  mess  of 
beef,  potatoes,  and  onions,  strong  of  smell  and  of  taste,  and  there- 
fore grateful  to  coarse  feeders.  After  the  lobscouse  they  had  plum- 
porridge  and  shrid-pies,  with  as  much  strong  ale  as  they  could  carry, 
and  more.  Yet  most  of  them  could  carry  a  great  deal :  Alexander 
the  Great  went  away  with  a  barrel  or  so  within  him,  a  mere  cask  of 
ale  ;  and  the  King  of  Egypt  was  carried  from  this  field  of  honour 
as  from  the  other. 

One  thing  I  must  relate  in  my  lord's  honour.  Among  the  singers 
was  a  plain  man  (yet  he  had  a  sweet,  rich  voice),  who  was  pointed 
out  to  him  as  a  Percy  by  descent.  He  was  but  a  stone-cutter,  yet 
a  descendant  in  the  direct  line  from  Jocelyn,  the  fourth  Earl ;  and 
I  know  not  how  his  forefathers  fell  so  low.  Lord  Derwentwater 
waited  until  the  singing  was  over,  and  then  stepped  forward  and 
offered  his  hand  to  this  man  as  to  a  gentleman,  and  sent  for  a  bottle 
of  wine,  which  he  gave  him,  with  a  purse  of  five  guineas,  saying 
that  the  Percies  and  the  Eadcliffes  were  cousins.  The  good  man 
was  much  abashed  at  first,  but  presently  lifted  his  head,  and  carried 
off  his  bottle  and  his  purse  with  resolution  and  pride.  This  cir- 
cumstance, simple  as  it  may  seem,  greatly  raised  the  character  of 
his  lordship  ;  for  the  common  people,  many  of  whom  are  descend- 


CHRISTMAS  TO  TWELFTH  NIGHT  125 


ants — even  though  bye-blows— of  the  gentlefolk,  highh^  regard  and 
are  extremely  jealous  of  descent  ;  so  that  at  Hexham  it  is  a  great 
thing  to  be  a  KadclifLe,  as  in  Redesdale  it  is  a  great  thing  to  be  a 
Hall,  and  as  at  Bamborough  one  would  be  a  Forster  if  one  could, 
and  at  Alnwick  a  Percy.  To  give  a  poor  man  a  present  because  he 
is  of  noble  descent  is  a  small  thing,  certainly  ;  yet  it  was  done  with 
so  great  an  ease  and  kindness  that  it  touched  all  hearts. 

if,  on  Christmas  Day,  we  amused  ourselves  after  the  manner  of 
the  people  and  were  happy  in  their  way,  we  were  promised,  a  few 
days  later,  a  performance  of  a  quite  different  and  more  fashionable 
kind.  It  was  through  Mr.  Hilyard,  who  always  knew  everything 
that  was  going  on  in  the  neighbourhood — how,  one  knows  not,  save 
that  he  was  ever  talking  with  carriers,  postboys,  and  gipsies,  and 
always  had  a  kind  word  and  a  crust  or  a  groat  for  a  vagrant,  nor 
cared  to  inquire  if  he  were  honest  or  not,  but  helped  him,  he  said, 
because  he  was  a  man,  and  therefore  stamped,  like  his  unworthy 
self,  with  the  Divine  effigies.  He  reported  that  there  was  a  com- 
pany of  players  at  Newcastle,  who  could  doubtless  be  persuaded,  in 
the  manner  usually  found  effective  among  such  people,  to  journey 
as  far  as  Dilston  Hall.  And  he  sent  off  without  delay  a  messenger 
who  was  to  run  the  whole  way,  twenty  miles,  with  a  letter  from 
himself,  to  bring  them,  bag  and  baggage.  It  was  the  same  company, 
though  this  he  told  us  not  (but  I  remembered  their  faces),  as  that 
among  whom  we  had  seen  him,  for  the  first  time,  play  Merry 
Andrew  ;  but  the  younger  actresses  were  changed,  as  is,  I  am  told, 
a  very  common  occurrence,  their  beauty  and  their  cleverness  getting 
them  rapid  promotion,  and,  in  some  cases,  good  husbands.  Why, 
Lord  Derwentwater's  grandmother  was  herself  but  an  actress, 
though  she  made  a  King  fall  in  love  with  her. 

These  strollers  were  so  poor — for  the  profits  of  each  night's  per- 
f ormxance  are  but  a  few  shillings  to  be  divided  among  all — that  they 
joyfully  acceded  to  the  invitation,  and  jumped  at  an  offer  which 
was  to  them  nothing  short  of  beef  and  beer  and  lodging  for  a  month 
to  come,  so  generous  was  my  lord. 

He  had  never  seen  an  English  play.  Nor  had  I  myself,  or  Tom, 
or  any  of  the  young  gentlemen  ;  though  I  had  often  heard  my 
father  speak  of  Drury  Lane  and  the  little  theatre  in  the  Haymarket, 
the  amusements  of  which  he  often  enjoyed  when  in  London  on  his 
Parliament  business. 

*I  have  witnessed  the  playing,'  said  my  lord,  'at  the  Comedie 
Francaise,  where  they  play  very  finely  the  tragedies  of  the  great 
Racine  and  Corneille  and  the  comedies  of  Moliere.  I  have  also 
attended  a  performance  of  Madame  de  Maintenon's  sacred  plays 
with  which  she  amuses  his  Majesty  ;  and  I  have  seen  the  Italian 
troupe,  who  are  full  of  tricks  and  merriment,  and  have  a  thousand 
ingenious  arts  to  divert  their  company.  The  play  is  truly  a  most 
polite  form  of  entertainment,  and  would  be  more  delightful  if  the 
'parterre  could  be  by  any  means  induced  to  remain  quiet,  and  if  the 
actors  could  have  the  stage  to  themselves,  without  the  thi'ee  rows 


126 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


of  gentlemen  who  interrupt  the  performance  by  loud  talking,  and 
encumber  the  movements  of  the  actors.  Mr.  Hilyard,  I  beg  that 
you  will  allow  no  seats  upon  our  stage.    We  will  all  sit  in  front.' 

At  Dilston,  as  everywhere,  Mr.  Hilyard  was  entrusted  with  the 
management  of  our  amusements. 

appoint  you,  sir,'  said  my  lord,  4f  I  may,  our  Master  of  the 
Revels  ;  and  I  require  but  one  thing  of  you — that  you  please  Miss 
Dorothy.' 

I  was  so  much  pleased  that  never  since  have  I  lost  the  memory 
of  that  fortnight,  and  dwell  upon  it  with  such  delight  in  the  recol- 
lection as  I  cannot  express  in  words.  Oh  !  sad  it  is  (if  we  do  not 
apply  the  thought  to  our  spiritual  advantage)  that  youth  and  beauty 
must  fade,  that  love  cannot  always  follow  a  smooth  and  easy  course, 
and  that  the  things  we  most  desire  should  so  often  be  snatched 
from  our  grasp  just  as  we  think  them  within  our  reach !  To 
meditate  upon  the  fleeting  and  momentary  nature  of  earthly  happi- 
ness is  now  my  lot.  The  thought  of  the  past  would  be  too  much 
for  me,  were  it  not  for  the  heavenly  blessing  and  divinely  given 
hope  that  there  is  another  and  a  more  lasting  youth  before  us. 
Why,  what  is  it  to  pass  through  a  few  years  of  old  age  and  solitary 
decay,  when  there  awaits  us  another  life  in  which  I  shall  meet 
again  my  lord,  with  that  same  noble  face  which  I  remember  so  well, 
and  those  kindly  eyes  which,  like  the  eyes  in  a  portrait  on  the  wall, 
follow  me  still,  though  they  are  long  since  closed  in  death  !  The 
face  and  the  eyes  will  be  the  same,  but  oh  !  glorified,  and  in  the 
living  image  of  God.  And  as  for  me,  my  poor  beauty  that  I  loved 
so  well,  yet  lost  without  a  sigh  when  my  friends  were  gone,  that, 
too,  will  be  given  back  to  me,  and  more,  with  such  heavenly  graces 
as  are  vouchsafed  to  those  who  believe.  There  will  be  no  marrying 
nor  giving  in  marria  ge  ;  but  a  pure  and  innocent  love  will  flow  from 
one  soul  to  another,  so  that  my  lord  will  meet  me  again  with  such  a 
look  in  his  sv/eet  eyes  as  he  wore  in  those  old  days  at  Dilston  Hall. 
Therefore,  weep  no  more,  poor  Dorothy  ;  but  patience,  and  tell  thy 
story. 

The  play  which  Mr.  Hilyard  chose  for  us  was  Congreve's 
*  Mourning  Bride.'  He  had  read  it  to  me  more  than  once  ;  but 
although  the  situation,  even  to  one  who  reads  or  listens  to  the  poem, 
is  full  of  horror,  and  the  unravelling  of  the  plot  keeps  the  mind 
agreeably  on  the  stretch  of  expectation,  I  was  not  prepared  for  the 
emotions  caused  by  the  actual  representation  of  the  piece  before  my 
eyes.  Mr.  Hilyard  arranged  for  the  performance  in  the  great  hall, 
providing  a  curtain  and  footlights  as  in  a  real  theatre,  with  scenery 
to  help  the  imagination.  Thus  the  scene  in  the  temple  or  church 
was  an  awful  representation  of  aisles  and  columns  which  one  was 
easily  persuaded  to  regard  as  real,  though  they  were  nothing  in  the 
world  but  rolls  of  canvas  or  linen  daubed  with  grey  paint.  And 
thus  (but  I  ought  to  have  expected  something  from  Mr.  Hilyard's 
vast  importance)  a  most  agreeable  surprise  awaited  us.    Not  only 


CHRISTMAS  TO  TWELFTH  NIGHT  127 


did  our  Master  of  the  Revels  himself  pronounce  a  prologue,  begin- 
ning— 

*  Far  from  the  London  boards  we've  travelled  here, 
Bringing  with  us,  to  make  you  better  cheer, 
Great  Dryden,  Congreve,  Shakespeare,  Farquhar,  Eowe, 
To  raise  your  mirth  and  bid  your  tears  to  flow ;' 

and  ending — 

'  Do  thou,  my  lord. 
Fresh  from  the  splendour  of  a  Court,  bestow 
(Though  all  our  art  be  simple,  and  our  show 
But  rustic)  gracious  audience  ;  and  while 
We  strive  to  please,  do  thou  be  pleased  to  srailo. 
Of  ye,  0  fair  !  we  ask,  but  not  in  vain, 
To  think  'tis  London  and  in  Drury  Lane. 
See  Osmyn  hug  his  chains,  and  Zara  say, 
*'  Blest  be  the  death  which  whiles  for  you  this  night  away."  ' 

*  Upon  my  word,'  said  my  lord,  '  Mr.  Hilyard  is  a  much  more 
ingenious  gentleman  than  I  thought.' 

'  He  is  well  enough,'  said  Tom.  '  But  this  verse-writing  is  mighty 
silly  skimble-skamble  stuff.' 

Then  the  cm'tain  di'ew  up,  and  the  play  began.  Everybody 
knows  this  most  beautiful  tragedy,  in  which  Almeria  mourns  the 
bridegroom  torn  from  her  at  the  very  hour  of  her  marriage,  and 
drowned  by  being  wrecked.  But — and  here  is  the  dramatist  s  art — 
her  father  is  not  to  know  of  the  marriage,  therefore  it  is  supposed 
that  Almeria  was  a  prisoner  in  Yalentia,  and  that  her  husband  was 
none  other  than  the  King  of  Yalentia's  son  ;  but  that  the  town  was 
taken  by  Almeria's  father,  and  the  King  and  Prince  Alphonso  were 
forced  to  fly,  and  so  taken  captive  or  perished  in  the  waves.  The 
actress  was  a  young  woman  of  some  beauty  set  off  by  art.  She  was 
of  light  complexion,  with  very  fair  hair  and  blue  eyes,  Avhich  I  dare 
say  are  common  among  the  Spaniards,  and  it  showed  very  well 
under  her  black  mourning  habits.  She  spoke  her  part  so  naturally, 
telling  the  story  of  her  hasty  marriage  and  the  loss  of  her  groom  so 
movingly,  that  we  were  all  in  tears  from  the  beginning.  And 
picture  our  astonishment  when  we  discovered  in  the  second  scene 
that  the  prisoner,  Osmyn,  was  none  other  than  Mr.  Hilyard  him- 
self !  Instead  of  a  wig,  he  wore  a  Moorish  turban  ;  instead  of  a 
coat  and  waistcoat,  a  suit  of  chain-armour  (borrowed  from  the  wall 
of  the  very  hall  where  the  play  was  acted).  He  was  fettered  with 
heavy  chains,  which  he  rattled  dolefully  ;  his  face  was  full  of  stern- 
ness and  resolution  (quite  unlike  the  short  face  and  twinkling  eyes 
of  Mr.  Hilyard),  and  his  head  was  thrown  back  to  express  his  scorn 
of  bis  conqueror.  I  do  not  know  why  anyone  should  scorn  a 
conqueror,  but  in  Plutarch  and  the  drama  they  always  do  so.  A 
conqueror,  methinks,  should  be  admired  as  the  stronger  and  more 
skilful ;  if  fate  permits  it,  he,  should  be  imitated.  But  perhaps  the 
scorn  is  intended  to  show  the  defiance  of  virtue,  even  though  vice 
be  for  the  moment  victorious. 


128 


DOROTHY  FOJRSTER. 


He  had  little  to  say  in  the  first  act.  But  in  the  second,  he 
showed  the  greatness  of  his  soul.  The  scene  is  in  the  aisle  of  a  vast 
church.  The  hearers  were  awed  and  terrified  by  the  words  of 
Almeria : 

*  It  strikes  an  awe 
And  terror  on  my  aching  sight.    The  tomb 
And  monumental  caves  of  death  are  cold, 
And  shoot  a  chillness  to  my  trembling  heart  !* 

She  finds  Osmyn  :  he  is  weeping  at  his  father's  tomb,  for  behold, 
Osmyn  is  none  other  than  Alphonso.  The  raptures  of  their  meet- 
ing are  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  Zara,  also  one  of  the  captives. 
She  is  in  love  with  Osmyn.  (After  the  performance,  T  reflected 
that  it  must  be  a  rare  thing  for  prisoners,  male  and  female,  thus  to 
wander  unrestrained  about  a  church  at  midnight.  Where  were 
Osmyn's  fetters  ?)  She  upbraids  him  with  his  coldness,  and  offers 
liberty  for  love.  He  refuses.  Then  she  threatens  him,  and  on  the 
arrival  of  the  King  has  him  conveyed  to  prison,  with  the  immediate 
prospect  of  death  by  rack  and  whip.  Mr.  Hilyard  (I mean  Osmyn) 
went  to  face  it  with  so  heroic  a  countenance  that  we  could  not 
choose  but  wonder.  Did  one  ever  believe  that  Mr.  Hilyard  could 
face  death  and  torture  with  so  bold  a  front  ?  I  declare  that,  for 
one,  1  have  ever  since  considered  the  courage  of  this  peaceful 
scholar  as  tried  and  proved  ;  nor  is  it  any  answer  to  say  that  an 
unshrinking  mien  may  be  assumed  even  by  a  coward  in  the  presence 
of  pretended  torture.  I  am  perfectly  assured  that  no  coward  could 
assume  without  betraying  so  assured  and  finished  a  guise  of  heroism. 
In  the  morning,  on  reflection,  I  thought  it  strange  that  the  King  as 
well  as  his  prisoners  should  spend  the  night  in  wandering  among 
the  tombs  in  a  church. 

In  the  third  act  Osmyn  is  visited  in  prison  by  his  friend  Heli  (T 
forget  whether  he  was  also  a  pri  -.oner,  or  merely  a  wandering  friend), 
who  informs  him  that  there  are  hopes  of  a  mutiny  among  the  troops, 
and  that  Zara  may  assist  to  release  him.  In  fact,  Zara  comes — she 
was  a  brunette,  with  speaking  eyes,  and  very  finely,  as  I  thought, 
played  the  part  of  a  hapless  woman  who  loves  where  she  is  not 
loved  in  return.  She  promises  assistance,  hoping  for  reward.  She 
then  retires,  apparently  to  make  room  for  Almeria,  but  returns  to 
discover  Almeria  with  the  captive.    This  fires  her  resentment  : 

*  Heaven  has  no  rage  like  love  to  hatred  turn'd, 
Nor  hell  a  fury  like  a  woman  scorned.' 

In  the  fourth  act  things  present  a  most  dreadful  outlook  to 
Almeria  and  her  fettered  husband  ;  but  in  the  fifth,  all,  by  a  most 
fortunate  and  providential  succession  of  murders,  ends  well.  First, 
a  mute  carrying  messages  is  slain  ;  the  King  takes  the  place  of 
Osmyn  (or  Alphonso)  in  the  prison,  and  is  murdered  by  mistake  ; 
Zara  poisons  herself,  and  throws  herself  upon  the  body  of  the 
King,  whom  she  supposes  to  be  Alphonso  ;  Almeria  comes,  and 
prepares  to  imitate  her  rival,  when  Alphonso,  victorious  and 


CHRISTMAS  TO  TWELFTH  NIGHT  i?9 

triumphant,  bursts  upon  the  scene,  and  saves  her  just  in  the  nick  of 
time.  To  tell  how  the  tragic  story  filled  my  heart  with  pity  and 
terror  while  it  was  acting,  how  Almeria  bewailed  her  fate,  how  Zara 
raged,  how  nobly  Mr.  Hil}  ard  (or  Alphonso)  bore  himself,  would 
be  impossible.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  we  wiped  away  our  tears  and 
were  happy  again,  though  the  stage  was  strewn  with  dead  bodies, 
when  Alphonso  spoke  the  last  lines  : 

*  Still  in  the  way  of  honour  persevere, 
And  not  from  past  or  present  ills  despair, 
For  blessings  ever  wait  on  virtuous  deeds, 
And,  though  a  late,  a  sure  reward  succeeds.* 

There  were  others  present  who  enjoyed  the  play  as  much  as  I  did, 
though  my  lord  said  that,  in  his  opinion,  and  compared  with  the 
majestic  work  of  Racine,  it  was  but  a  poor  piece,  and  that  the  situa- 
tions were  forced,  with  too  much  blood.  All  the  servants  who  chose 
to  come  were  allowed  to  stand  at  the  lower  end,  and  though  some  of 
them  gaped  and  wondered  what  it  all  might  mean,  there  were  others 
who  looked  on  with  delight.  Among  them  was  my  maid  J enny, 
whom  I  discerned  standing  on  a  stool  at  the  far  end,  her  face  aglow 
with  a  kind  of  rapture,  her  great  black  eyes  like  coals  of  fire,  her 
lips  parted,  and  her  body  bent  forward — things  which  I  remembered 
afterwards.  This  girl  (who  was,  as  I  have  said,  clever,  sharp,  and 
faithful)  I  had  taught  to  read.  I  am  well  aware  that  I  am  open  to 
censure  for  doing  this.  The  possession  of  this  key  to  learning  is 
a  dangerous  thing.  It  is  certainly  a  question  which  still  remains  to 
be  answered,  whether  persons  in  that  class  should  be  taught  to  read  ; 
for,  in  the  first  place,  a  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing.  Again, 
discontent  is  easily  acquired  when  one  learns  how  many,  from 
obscure  origins,  have  become  rich.  Thirdly,  it  has  been  abundantly 
proved  that  there  is  no  villain  like  a  villain  who  can  read  and  write. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  seems  good  that  a  man  or  woman  should  be 
able  to  read  the  Prayer  Book,  Catechism,  and  Psalms  of  David  in 
the  vulgar  tongue,  and  the  Bible  as  well,  provided  always  that  the 
interpretation  of  it  be  modestly  left  to  clergymen  of  the  Established 
Church,  and  not  undertaken  by  private  judgment.  As  for  matters 
of  daily  work,  such  as  the  farm  and  the  house  and  medicine,  it  is 
certain  that  book-learning  will  never  become  so  good  as  the  teaching 
of  those  who  have  learned  from  their  fathers  and  motters.  How- 
ever, be  it  right  or  wrong,  I  taught  the  girl  to  read  ;  and  Jenny, 
though  this  I  knew  not,  began  to  read  everything  she  could  find  at 
all  times  when  she  was  not  at  work.  Among  other  things  she  read, 
it  is  supposed,  volumes  of  plays  which  belonged  to  Mr.  Hilyard. 

When  the  play  was  over,  Jenny,  instead  of  going  to  bed  as  a  good 
girl  should  have  done,  must  needs  wait  about  (this  I  learned  after- 
wards) until  the  players  went  to  their  supper  ;  and  after  supper  she 
sat  up  with  them,  listening  open-mouthed  to  their  talk.  It  seems 
that  people  of  this  profession  scarce  ever  go  to  bed  before  one  or 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  because  after  their  great  passion  and 
the  excitement  of  so  many  emotions  they  are  fain  to  sit  up  till  late, 


130 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


recovering  the  calmness  of  spirit  necessary  for  quiet  sleep.  I  know 
not  what  they  said  to  her,  or  she  to  them  ;  but  afterwards  she  was 
never  the  same  girl.  She  had  moods  and  fits  ;  would  cry  for 
nothing,  and  laugh  at  a  little ;  read  more  book  of  plays  ;  and, 
among  the  other  maids,  would  imitate  not  only  the  actresses,  but 
also  the  very  gentlemen  of  the  company  to  the  life — their  voice, 
gestures,  and  manner  of  bearing  themselves.  This  was  a  very  impu- 
dent and  disrespectful  thing  to  do.  I  have  also  reason  to  believe — 
but  as  I  never  charged  it  upon  him,  so  he  never  confessed  it — that 
Mr.  Hilyard  himself  secretly  encouraged  the  girl  to  learn,  and  taught 
her  to  declaim  with  justness  of  emphasis  and  proper  management 
of  voice,  passages  from  his  books.  Great  scholar  and  wit  though  he 
was,  he  did  not  sufficiently  consider  the  consequences  of  his  actions. 
To  teach  such  a  girl  to  deliver  poetry  with  eloquence  was  as  much 
as  to  give  a  man  who  hath  no  money  a  taste  for  the  most  costly 
wines. 

This,  however,  by  the  way. 

In  the  morning  I  myself,  finding  the  players  preparing  to  go 
away,  entered  into  conversation  with  one  of  the  women,  the  one 
who  played  Zara.  She  was  a  young  woman  of  genteel  carriage  and 
respectful  speech,  who,  off  the  stage,  although  upon  it  she  was  so 
queenly  in  her  bearing  and  so  full  of  fire  and  action,  might  very 
well  have  passed  for  a  respectable  seamstress  or  milliner.  As  for 
the  woman  who  played  Leonora,  she  was  the  wife  of  the  King,  I 
found,  and  middle-aged,  with  a  baby.  First  of  all,  when  I  spoke  to 
Zara,  I  found  she  was  shy,  as  if  afraid  that  I  should  despise  or 
insult  her,  a  thing  of  which  I  am  told  actors  are  very  jealous, 
because  by  statute  law  they  are  regarded  as  rogues  and  vagabonds. 

'  In  Paris,'  my  lord  told  me,  '  they  once  lost  in  this  way  their  best 
actress,  an  incomparable  and  most  beautiful  creature,  who  was  so 
enraged  by  the  insults  of  the  parterre^  that  she  retm^ned  them  with 
scorn  and  indignation.  They  clapped  her  in  prison  for  this  lese- 
majesU  ;  but  when  she  was  liberated,  she  refused  ever  to  act  again.' 

Well,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  show  contempt  for  anybody,  much 
less  a  virtuous  and  honest  young  woman ;  and  I  made  haste  to  com- 
pliment her  on  her  rare  and  wonderful  gift  of  impersonation,  adding 
that  I  had  learned  to  respect  the  art  from  my  tutor,  Mr.  Hilyard, 
whom  they  had  allowed  to  play  Osmyn.  Then  I  asked  her  about 
her  way  of  life,  and  if  she  was  happy.  She  replied  that,  indeed,  for 
happiness  she  could  not  tell,  because  poor  folks  are  never  over- 
whelmed with  happiness ;  that  the  pay  was  uncertain,  and  sometimes 
food  was  scanty,  and  there  were  times  when  to  play  in  a  barn  for  a 
supper  was  counted  great  gain  ;  yet  (I  remembered  afterwards  that 
Jenny  stood  beside  me,  and  was  listening  with  open  mouth)  the 
delight  of  acting  ('  Oh  !  Ah  !'  a  gasp  and  a  sigh  from  Jenny)  was  so 
great  as  to  counterbalance  the  evils  of  poverty.  That,  to  be  sure, 
fine  ladies  look  down  upon  an  actress  as  mere  dirt  beneath  their 
feet ;  but  what  signifies  that,  since  one  need  never  speak  with  a  fine 
lady  ?  That  it  was  a  hard  life,  in  which  a  body  hath  no  time  to  be 
ill  or  to  be  wearied,  or  to  have  any  mood  or  mind  of  her  own,  but 


CHRISTMAS  TO  TWELFTH  NIGHT,  131 


always  ready  for  a  new  part  and  to  play  a  new  passion  ;  yet,  that 
this  evil  was  compensated  for  by  the  freedom  and  variety  of  the  life. 

'  Consider,  madam,'  she  said  earnestly,  'if  I  were  not  an  actress, 
1  should  be  a  maid  in  a  lady's  house,  or  a  common  drudge  to  a 
tradesman's  wife,  or  perhaps  a  dressmaker,  or  serving- woman  to  a 
coffee-house  or  a  tavern  ;  or,  if  I  had  good  looks,  perhaps  a  shop- 
girl, to  sell  gloves,  ribbons,  and  knickknacks,  in  Cranbourne  Alley. 
Your  ladyjhip  doth  not  know,  I  am  sure,  the  rubs  and  flips  which 
we  poor  women  have  to  endure  from  harsh  masters.  What  is  our 
character  to  them,  provided  fine  gentlemen  come  to  the  shop  and 
buy  ?  and  vVhat  do  they  care  what  becomes  of  the  poor  girls  ?  One 
gone,  another  is  easily  found.  All  poor  people  must  be  unhappy  in 
some  way,  I  suppose.  Give  me  my  liberty ' — here  J enny  choked — 
*  if  I  must  .starve  with  it.  But  we  all  hope  for  better  times,  and 
perhaps,  bef(.)re  we  grow  old  and  lose  such  good  looks  as  the  Lord 
hath  given  to  us,  an  engagement  at  York  Theatre — or  even  ' — here 
she  gasped  as  -one  who  catcheth  at  a  bunch  of  grapes  too  high — '  at 
Drury  Lane.' 

So  they  packed  up  their  dresses  and  gilt  crowns,  their  tin  swords 
and  fineries,  and  went  away,  well  pleased  with  the  generous  pay  of 
my  lord.  But  Mr.  Hilyard  went  about  with  his  chin  in  the  air, 
still  thinking  himself  Osmyn,  for  many  days  to  come. 

'  Are  there,'  asked  my  lord,  '  many  scholars  of  Oxford  who  can 
act,  and  write  ve  rses,  and  play  the  buffoon,  and  sing  like  that  strange 
man  of  yours.  M  iss  Dorothy  ?  In  Paris,  such  a  scholar  becomes  an 
abbe  ;  he  may  m  ike  as  many  verses  as  he  pleases,  and  pay  court  to 
as  many  patrons,  .and  be  lapdog  to  the  fine  ladies,  but  act  upon  the 
stage  he  may  not.' 

Yet  he  congratulated  the  actor  with  the  kindness  which  belonged 
to  his  nature,  tryin;g  to  make  him  feel  that  his  genius  and  the 
variety  of  his  powe^i's  were  admired  and  understood.  And  before 
we  came  away  my  1  ord  gave  him  a  snuff-box,  which  Mr.  Hilyard 
still  carries  and  greal  Jy  values.  It  bears  upon  the  lid  a  picture  of 
Danae,  believed  to  be  the  portrait  of  Nell  Gwynne. 

'  But  as  for  his  ac  ting,'  my  lord  went  on,  '  I  care  not  who  acts 
nor  what  the  piece,  so  loug  as  thou  art  pleased,  fair  Daphne.  For 
to  please  thee  is  at  prf  isent  all  my  thought  and  my  only  care.  Ah  ! 
blushing,  rosy  English  cheek  !  Sure  nowhere  in  the  world  are  the 
women  so  beautiful  as-  in  England  ;  and  nowhere  so  true,  and  good 
as  well,  as  in  my  own  c^ounty.' 

With  such  pretty  sp  eeches  he  ended  everything.  If  it  were  a 
ride,  it  must  be  whither  I  pleased  ;  if  we  walked,  it  must  be  in  what 
direction  I  commanded ;  when  we  dined,  the  dishes  were  to  be  to 
my  liking;  if  I  venture ^.d  to  praise  anything,  it  must  become  my 
own — nay,  I  think  that,  jhad  I  chosen,  I  could  have  stripped  the 
walls  even  of  the  family  portraits,  carried  off  the  treasures  which 
the  house  contained,  and  »borne  away  all  the  horses  from  the  stable. 
My  lord  possessed  that  na  ture  ch  is  never  truly  happy  unless  it 
is  devising  f  urther  happinc'^s  and  fresh  joyful  surprises  for  those  he 
loves. 

9-2 


1 32  DO  ROTH  V  FORSTER. 


CHAPTER  XY. 

NEW  year's  day. 

On  tll6  day  of  the  New  Year,  which  is  the  day  for  giving  and  re- 
ceiving presents,  there  was  so  great  an  exchange  of  pretty  things 
that  I  cannot  enumerate  them.  For  everybody  gave  something,  if 
it  were  only  a  little  trifle  worked  by  hand.  Thus,  my  lord  presented 
Tom  with  a  hunter,  and  Tom  gave  him  a  fowling-piece  which  had 
belonged  to  his  uncle  Ferdinando.  Though  the  general  joy  at  the 
master's  return  was  so  great  that  the  tables  groaned  beneath  the 
presents  offered  to  him,  yet  I  think  he  gave  far  more  than  he 
received.  That  was  ever  his  way— to  give  more  than  he  received, 
whether  in  friendship,  trust,  and  confidence,  or  in  rich  presents,  or 
in  love.  It  is  a  happy  disposition,  showing  that  its  ow\ier  is  already 
half  prepared  for  heaven.  As  for  myself,  I  was  made  nothing  short 
of  rich  by  the  many  beautiful  and  costly  things  that  ^vere  bestowed 
upon  me.  Tom  gave  me  a  pair  of  gloves,  the  Lady  Mary  a  small 
parcel  of  point-lace  of  "Valenciennes,  the  Lady  Kathnrine  a  piece  of 
most  beautiful  brocade,  saying  that  she  was  too  old  for  such  gauds 
and  vanities,  which  became  young  and  beautiful  gentlewomen,  and 
her  maid  should  give  me  counsel  how  best  to  n^iake  it  up.  Mr. 
Howard  gave  me  a  book  from  the  library  containing  the  *  Medita- 
tions '  of  Thomas  k  Kempis.  Alas !  I  paid  little  heed  at  the  time 
to  the  wise  and  comforting  words  of  that  precic  us  book,  though 
now,  next  to  one  other,  it  is  my  greatest  conso'  er.  (I  also  find 
some  of  the  '  Thoughts  '  of  Monsieur  Pascal  wc  rthy  the  attention 
of  those  who  would  seek  comfort  from  religion.  )  Frank  gave  me 
a  silver  chain — it  had  been  his  grandmother's — for  hanging  keys 
and  what  not  upon  ;  and  Mr.  Errington  gave  me  a  pretty  little  ring 
set  with  an  emerald,  saying  that  he  had  bouight  it  for  the  first 
Dorothy  Forster  twenty  years  before,  but  she  would  have  none  of 
him  or  of  his  gifts. 

*  Wherefore,  my  dear,' he  said,  *  although  an  emerald  speaks  of 
love  returned,  let  me  bestow  it  upon  one  boautiful  enough  to  be 
Dorothy's  daughter. 

*    O  daughter,  fairer  than  thy  mc  ther  fair," 

as  says  some  poet,  but  I  forget  which,  because  it  is  thirty  years 
since  I  left  off  reading  verses.  Yery  likely  it  was  Suckling  or 
Waller.' 

*  Sir,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard  officiously,  'you  r  honour  does  the  Latin 
poet  Horace  the  honour  to  quote  him — thr  ough  an  unknown  trans- 
lation.' 

*  Gad,'  replied  Mr.  Errington,  *  I  knew  not  I  was  quoting  Latin. 
I  am  infinitely  obliged  to  you,  sir,  for  thf  ^  assistance  of  your  learn- 
ing. It  shall  be  Horace,  since  you  say  so.  But  much  finer  things, 
I  doubt  not,  have  been  said  about  beau  til?  ul  women  by  our  English 
poets.  Can  you,  sir,  who  know  the  nr^ets,  as  well  as  everything 
else' — Mr.  Errington  was  one  of  '\     ae  gentlemen  who  regard 


NEIV  YEAR'S  DAY. 


133 


scholarship  as  a  kind  of  trade,  to  be  followed  by  the  baser  sort,  as 
indeed  it  c  hiefly  is,  and  as  a  means  of  rising — '  can  you,  sir,  help  us 
to  something  from  an  English  poet  with  which  we  may  compliment 
the  beauty  of  this  young  lady  ?' 

'  The  language  of  gallantry,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  'was  not  affected 
by  Shakespeare,  our  greatest  poet ;  yet  there  is  one  passage  which 
I  submit  to  your  honour.  It  is  in  his  sonnets,  wherein  the  poet 
says  : 

*  "  Thou  art  thy  mother's  glass,  and  she  in  thee 
Calls  back  the  lovely  April  of  her  person."  ' 

*  Very  gc»od,  sir,'  said  Mr.  Errington.  '  Fair  Dorothy,  Shakespeare 
was  a  prophet.' 

Lord  De.rwentwater  alone  gave  me  nothing,  which  I  thought 
strange.  Bvit  presently,  when  the  first  business  and  agitation  about 
the  gifts  wei  e  over,  he  begged  me  to  examine  with  him  some  of  the 
treasures  and  heirlooms  of  the  house. 

The  hall  was  full  of  strange  things  and  treasures  brought  to- 
gether from  every  part  of  the  world  ;  by  E,adcli£Ees  who  had 
travelled  in  far  countries,  even  to  Constantinople  and  the  Holy 
Land  ;  by  Had  cliff  es  who  had  crossed  the  ocean,  and  seen  the  two 
Americas  and  the  savage  Indians  ;  by  Eadcliffes  v/ho  had  plundered 
Scottish  castles  and  Scottish  towns  in  the  old  times  ;  by  Radcliffes 
who  had  bought  beautiful  things  in  Italy,  and  by  those  who  had 
bought  them  in  London.  The  walls  were  covered  with  pictures  ; 
not  only  portraits,  but  also  those  pictures  which  men  strangely  love 
to  paint,  of  half -clothed  shepherdesses,  nymphs,  satyrs,  and  so  forth  ; 
illustrations  of  stories  from  Ovid  and  the  ancient  poets,  some  of 
which  Mr.  Hilyard  had  read  to  me  ;  together  with  other  pictures, 
to  my  poor  understanding  equally  foolish — to  wit,  the  martyrdom 
and  torture  of  saints,  as  the  shooting  of  St.  Sebastian  with  arrows  ; 
the  roasting  of  St.  Lawrence  upon  a  gridiron  (this  was  a  very  fine 
and  much-praised  picture  by  an  Italian  master,  whose  name  I  have 
forgotten  ;  but  it  Loade  your  flesh  creep  ever  afterwards  even  to 
think  of  that  poor  writhing  wretch)  ;  the  angels  in  heaven,  all 
sitting  in  a  formal  ci.i'cle  ;  the  beheading  of  St.  Peter,  and  so  forth. 
I  know  not  why  these  things  should  be  portrayed,  unless,  as  is 
wisely  done  in  Fox's  '  Book  of  Martyrs,'  in  order  to  show,  by  lively 
pictures  of  the  poor  c  reatures  in  the  flames,  what  one  religion  is 
capable  of  doing,  and  i^he  other  of  enduring.  Besides  the  pictures, 
there  were  suits  of  armour,  both  chain-armour,  very  beautifully 
wrought,  and  armour  of  hammered  iron,  with  a  whole  armoury  of 
weapons  hanging  like  ti'ophies  upon  the  walls,  such  as  pikes,  lances, 
spears,  bows  and  arrows^  crossbows,  guns  and  firelocks  of  all  kinds, 
strange  instruments  for  tearing  knights  out  of  their  saddles,  battle 
axes,  maces,  and  swordr  of  every  kind.  At  my  request,  my  lord 
once  dressed  himself  in  ne  of  the  suits  of  chain-armour,  and  put 
on  his  head  an  iron  helmt  ,  with  side  or  cheek  pieces,  and  a  machine 
for  protecting  the  face.  /ith  a  battle-axe  in  his  hand,  he  looked 
most  martial  and  commanding  ;  yet  I  laughed  to  see  the  long  wig 
below  the  helmet,  flowing  over  the  shoulders  and  the  chain-armour. 


134 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


To  each  age  its  fasliions  ;  since  the  politeness  of  the  pres^ent  gene- 
ration commands  gentlemen  no  longer  to  wear  their  own  hair,  bufc 
a  full  wig,  whereby  the  aged  may  look  young,  and  the  "young  dis- 
guise their  youth  and  inexperience,  there  must  seem  ;^omething 
ludicrous  when  the  dress  of  our  ancestors  is  assumed  e  ven  for  a 
moment.  It  was  not,  however,  to  see  these  things,  wtiich  stood 
exposed  to  the  view  of  all  who  came,  that  I  was  asked  to  a.ecompany 
my  lord.  We  went  to  see  those  treasures  which  were  k  ept  under 
lock  and  key  in  cabinets  and  cupboards,  and  even  in  seciret  places 
known  only  to  Mrs.  Busby,  the  housekeeper,  who  cam.s  with  us, 
bearing  the  keys. 

Lady  Mary  came,  too.  Her  sister.  Lady  Katharine,  the  most 
gentle  and  pious  of  women,  was  in  the  chapel,  where  she  spent  a 
great  part  of  each  day  in  prayer  and  meditation.  Certa  inly,  if  ever 
there  was  a  saint  in  the  Church  of  Eome,  she  was  one.  Though 
we  are  bound  not  to  accept  the  doctrine  of  Purgatory  which  seems 
to  me  the  least  harmful  of  human  inventions,  as  rega.rds  religion), 
yet  I  have  always  thought,  in  considering  the  life  of  this  pious 
woman,  that  there  could  be  no  fires  of  Purgatory  for  her.  Her 
sister  was  as  gentle,  but  not  so  pious  (yet  a  good  woman,  and 
obedient  to  the  Church). 

'  My  dear,'  she  said,  '  we  have  many  pretty  thing  s  to  show  you. 
No  doubt  the  Forsters  have  also  got  together,  both  at  Bamborough 
and  Etherston,  things  as  curious  and  more  valuable ,  for  we  are  not 
ignorant  that  you  have  been  longer  in  the  county.  But  our  collec- 
tions are  allowed  to  be  very  fine.' 

They  were  indeed  very  fine.  We  have  nothing  to  compare  with 
them,  either  at  Etherston  or  at  Bamborough. 

There  were  old  brocades,  stiff  with  gold  and  silver  ;  gloves  set 
with  pearls  ;  shoe-buckles  with  diamonds  ;  embroi  dered  and  jewelled 
garters  ;  damasks,  flounced  stuffs,  rich  silks,  eve^ry  kind  of  woman's 
dress  from  the  time  of  Henry  YI.,  or  even  older,  to  the  present 
day.  The  housekeeper  laid  them  out  with  p^ride,  saying,  'This 
belonged  to  Lady  Radcliffe,  your  lordship's  gnindmother,  who  was 
a  daughter  of  Sir  William  Fenwick  ;  and  this  v.^as  part  of  the  bridal 
dress  of  Anne  Radcliffe,  who  married  Sir  Philip  Constable  ;  and 
these  were  the  late  Lady  Swinburne's  gloves'— and  so  on.  She 
had,  besides,  a  story  to  tell  of  every  one  ;  how  this  lady  was  a 
widow  and  a  beauty  ;  and  this  one  ran  away,  ai.d  another  was 
married  against  her  will,  and  another  a  wid  ow  almost  as  soon  as 
she  was  a  bride  :  such  tales  as  an  old  house;keeper  loves  to  gather 
together  and  to  store  up. 

'  Women,'  says  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  are  the  his  fcorians,  as  they  are  the 
guardians,  of  the  household.' 

*  These,'  said  the  Earl,  *  are  the  ladif  ^  collections.  My  own 
mother ' — his  face  darkened  when  he  spok  of  his  mother  (at  which 
I  wonder  not) — '  hath  added  nothing  ;  at  my  grandmother  and 
her  predecessors  have  all  contributed  so*  lething  of  their  finery  to 
make  this  collection  the  better.  Great  p  ty  it  is  when  a  family  lets 
all  be  scattered  abroad  and  lost.' 


NEW  YEAR\S  DAY, 


I3S 


Then  we  were  shown  the  cabinets,  where  were  locked  up  the 
trinkets,  ornaments,  and  things  in  gold.  Here  were  rings  of  all 
kinds — some  old  and  rudely  set,  but  with  large  stones  ;  some  with 
posies  and  devices  ;  some  with  coats  of  arms  ;  some  with  stories 
belonging  to  them  and  some  without.  Also  there  were  bracelets 
of  all  kinds — of  plain  beaten  gold,  of  chains  in  gold,  of  rings,  of 
serpents  ;  of  Saracen,  Turkish,  Indian,  Venetian,  and  Florentine 
work  ;  also  necklaces  of  silver  and  of  gold — plain  and  set  with 
emeralds,  diamonds,  rubies,  opal,  sapphires,  and  all  other  precious 
stones,  egrets^  etuis ^  and  chains  of  all  kinds,  even  the  thin  and 
delicate  chain  of  pure  soft  gold  from  India — one  never  saw  so 
brave  a  show.  Then  there  were  miniatures  in  gold  frames  set 
with  pearls,  of  the  Eadcliffe  ladies,  including  my  own  great-grand- 
mother, the  heiress  of  Blanchland.  A  comely  and  beautiful  race 
they  were.  Next  there  were  snuff-boxes  collected  by  the  late  Earl, 
who  died  in  the  year  1705.  There  were  dozens  of  these,  mostly 
with  lids  beautifully  painted,  but  the  pictures  such  as  please  not  a 
woman's  eye,  being  like  those  on  the  walls,  of  half -dressed  nymphs 
and  shepherdesses.  Dear  me  !  A  man  who  wants  to  take  snuff 
can  surely  take  it  quite  as  well  out  of  a  tin  or  brass  snuff-box,  such 
as  our  gentlemen  use,  as  out  of  a  box  with  a  heathen  goddess 
sprawling  outside,  dressed  as  heathen  goddesses  were  accustomed 
to  dress. 

'  It  is,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard  once,  talking  the  nonsense  that  even 
learned  men  sometimes  permit  themselves — 'it  is  an  excuse  for 
painting  the  ideal  model,  and  fountain  of  beauty.  It  has  been 
held  that  from  Yenus — namely,  feminine  beauty — are  born  not 
only  the  train  of  Loves,  petulant  and  wanton,  but  also  the  nine 
Muses,  who  are,  in  fact.  Poetry,  Music,  Dancing,  Acting,  Grallantry, 
Courtesy,  Politeness,  Courtship,  and  Intrigue,  and  not  Thalia  and 
her  sisters  at  all,  unless  they  can  be  proved  to  have  those  attributes.* 

This  foolish  talk  I  refused  to  hear.  Did  ever  a  woman  wish  to 
see  represented  the  stalwart  form  and  sturdy  calves  of  her  lover  ? 
How,  then,  did  we  get  our  love  for  poetry,  dancing,  and  the  rest  of 
it,  including  coquetry  ? 

I  cannot  tell  all  that  was  in  this  cabinet  of  wonders.  But  in  the 
lowest  drawers  there  lay — fans  !  Oh,  Heaven  !  Fans  !  I  never 
knew  before  that  there  were  in  the  whole  wide  world  so  many  fans. 
They  were  all  painted,  and  some  of  them  most  beautifully.  There 
were  fans  with  flowers  on  them,  so  life-like  that  you  stooped  to 
breathe  the  perfume  of  the  rose  or  the  mignonette  ;  there  were 
fans  with  rustic  scenes — swains  and  shepherdesses  dancing  round  a 
maypole. 

'  Do  they  dance  so  in  France,  my  lord  ?'  I  asked, 
*  Nay,'  he  replied  gravely.   '  They  dance,  indeed,  but  it  is  to  forget 
the  terrors  of  to-morrow,  and  to  rejoice  over  the  certainty  of  to- 
day's dinner.    There  is  laughter,  but  not  much  joy,  in  the  peasant's 
dance.' 

So  I  laid  that  down,  and  took  up  another.  Upon  it  was  the  tale 
of  the  Sirens  and  Ulysses,    Oh  1  I  knew  the  story,  and  wonderful 


DORO  TH  V  FORS  TER. 


it  was  to  see  the  oarsmen  rowing,  silent  and  careless,  neither  seeing 
nor  hearing,  while  Ulysses,  bound  to  the  mast,  strained  forward  to 
catch  the  music,  after  which  he  would  fain  have  followed  like  a 
slave  if  he  could.  It  was  a  moral  piece,  and  I  looked  at  it  with 
admiration.  The  next — but  I  cannot  run  through  them  all — was 
the  Judgment  of  Paris — the  shepherd,  a  very  noble  youth,  with 
something  of  the  look  of  my  lord  upon  him  ;  while  as  for  the  god- 
desses, not  one  of  them,  to  my  thinking,  deserved  an  apple  so  much 
as — but  we  may  not  judge,  and  it  seemed  to  please  his  lordship. 
Then  there  were  more  swains  and  shepherdesses,  very  sweet  and 
pretty,  with  grass  like  velvet,  and  dresses  (though  they  had  been 
tending  sheep)  as  clean  and  neat  as  if  just  out  of  the  band-box. 

'  Ah !  if  one  could  find  such  a  country,'  I  said,  '  one  would  wil- 
lingly turn  milkmaid.' 

'  And  I,'  said  my  lord,  '  would  even  be  turned  into  a  shepherd  to 
be  companion  to  such  a  milkmaid.' 

Then  there  was  a  fan  of  Pierrot,  Harlequin,  and  Columbine.  It 
brought  your  heart  into  your  mouth  only  to  see  such  merry,  careless 
faces,  as  if  there  were  no  such  thing  as  trouble,  or  anxiety,  or  exiled 
princes,  or  rival  churches,  or  wicked  people,  and  all  that  one  had  to 
do  was  to  tell  stories  continually,  laugh,  dance,  sing,  and  make 
merry.  I  never  saw  before  such  happiness  depicted  on  simple 
white  silk.  It  made  me  think,  somehow,  of  Mr.  Hilyard  in  the 
evening.  After  this  fan,  I  cared  little  about  the  rest,  though  the 
parting  of  Achilles  and  Briseis  was  sad,  and  the  death  of  Cleopatra 
tragic. 

'  Now,'  said  my  lord,  smiling  kindly,  as  was  his  wont  when  he 
was  doing  something  generous-— '  now  that  you  have  seen  our  pretty 
things,  remember  that  you  have  not  received  my  etrenne.  Will  it 
please  you  make  a  choice  ?' 

I  know  not  whether  by  accident  or  design,  but  Lady  Mary  and 
the  housekeeper  were  engaged  among  the  silks  and  old  brocades, 
and  we  were  alone. 

'  Oh,  my  lord  I'  I  said,  *  I  cannot  take  any  of  these  beautiful 
things.  They  belong  to  your  house  and  to  your  family.  They 
must  not  leave  you.' 

'  Take  all,'  he  whispered.  *  Oh,  Dorothy !  take  all  ;  and  yet, 
they  need  not  leave  me,  if  in  taking  them  you  take  me  too.' 

Alas  !  what  could  a  girl  say  ?  I  knew  not  what  to  say  ;  for  in 
the  great  joy  of  that  moment  I  remembered  not — nay,  all  this  time 
I  thought  not  about  it,  being  in  a  Fool's  Paradise — what  stood 
between  us. 

*  Oh,  my  lord  !'  was  all  I  could  whisper. 

But  he  stooped  and  kissed  my  fingers,  and  I  think  that  Lady 
Mary  saw  him,  for  she  came  back  quickly,  a  little  glow  upon  her 
faded  cheek  and  a  brightness  in  her  eyes  ;  but  said  nothing,  only 
presently  took  my  hand  in  hers  and  pressed  it  kindly. 

Well,  there  was  no  help  ;  she  joined  her  nephew  in  forcing  pre- 
sents upon  me.  I  chose  the  fan  with  Harlequin,  Columbine,  and 
Pien'ot  upon  it.   Why,  it  lies  beside  me  still,  with  its  three  onco 


NEW  YEAR'S  DAY. 


^37 


happy,  laughing  faces.  Long  ago  they  too  have  been  driven  out  of 
their  Fool  s  Paradise,  like  me.  The  silk  has  faded  ;  the  pictured 
faces  smile  no  more — they  have  lost  their  youth — they  are  wrinkled 
— they  have  forgotten  how  to  laugh.  When  I  die,  I  should  like 
that  fan  to  be  buried  with  me. 

Other  things  they  gave  me— a  ring,  a  bracelet — what  matters 
now  ? — with  kind  words,  and  praise  of  beauty  and  sweet  looks.  A 
sensible  girl  knows  very  well  that  this  flattery  is  bestowed  out  of 
goodness  of  heart,  and  with  the  desire  of  pleasing  her  ;  it  does  not 
turn  her  head  more  than  the  passing  sunshine  of  the  moment, 
though  it  makes  her  cheek  to  glow,  her  eyes  to  brighten,  and  her 
lips  to  tremble. 

'  There  were  never,'  whispered  the  fond  young  lover,  '  never,  I 
swear,  finer  eyes  or  sweeter  lips.' 

In  the  evening,  when  I  opened  my  fan,  a  paper  fell  out.  My 
lord  picked  it  up  and  gave  it  me.  Oh  !  it  was  another  set  of  ver&es, 
and  in  the  same  feigned  handwriting  as  the  first.  He  read  them, 
affecting  as  much  surprise  as  on  the  former  occasion  : 

*  Learn,  njrmphs,  from  wondrous  Daphne's  art 

The  uses  of  the  fan, 
Designed  to  play  a  potent  part 
When  she  undoes  a  man. 

*  As  when  the  silly  trout  discerns 

The  artificial  fiy, 
And  rises,  bites,  and  too  late  learns 
The  hook  that  lies  hard  by  ; 

*  So  man,  before  whose  raptured  gaze 

The  fan  in  Daphne's  arms, 
Now  spreads,  now  shuts,  and  now  displays, 
And  now  conceals  her  charms, 

*  Falls,  like  that  silly  fish,  a  prey, 

Yet,  happier  far  than  he. 
Adores  the  hand  outstretched  to  slay 
And  dies  in  ecstasy.' 

CHAPTER  XYL 

A    STRANGE  THING. 

I  CANNOT  forbear  to  mention  a  thing  which  happened  at  this  time, 
so  strange,  so  contrary  to  reason  and  experience,  so  far  removed 
from  the  ordinary  stories  of  apparitions  and  phantoms,  that,  had  1 
not  been  agitated  by  a  thousand  tumultuous  joys,  I  must  have  been 
thrown  by  it  into  great  apprehensions,  and  perhaps  have  felt  com- 
pelled to  lay  the  matter  before  the  Bishop. 

The  thing  is  concerned  with  my  maid  Jenny,  of  course.  I  have 
already  explained  that  she  was  an  active  and  faithful  maid,  clever 
with  her  needle,  a  good  hairdresser,  modest  and  respectful  in  her 
behaviour  to  me,  whatever  she  was  to  others.  With  all  these 
yjvtues,  it  is  grievous  to  remember  that  if  ever  a  woman  was  a 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


witch,  and  had  dealings  with  the  devil — why,  even  Mr.  Ililyard, 

who  is  always  most  cautious  in  these  matters,  confesses  that  the 
matter  is  beyond  his  comprehension,  and  he  knows  not  how  to 
explain  it,  or  what  to  say  of  it.  Let  us  remember  that  at  Blanch- 
land  she  saw  apparitions  (though  others  saw  none),  to  the  terror  of 
the  village  ;  and  there  also  she  was  said  to  lead  about  a  rustic  whom 
she  made  do  whatever  she  pleased  (this  at  the  time  I  believed  not, 
though  now  I  know  that  it  may  be  true).  And  at  Dilston  she  acied 
parts  either  of  her  own  invention,  or  imitated  people,  or  declaimed 
what  she  had  heard  to  such  admiration  that  the  men  gazed  upon 
her  with  open  mouths,  and  the  kitchen-maids  dropped  the  dishes, 
and  the  elder  women  crossed  themselves.  Gipsy  blood  will  show, 
they  say  ;  no  doubt  these  outcasts  are  in  some  sort  more  liable  than 
the  rest  of  us  to  diabolical  possession,  and  it  is  by  this,  and  no 
other  way,  that  they  are  enabled  to  read  the  future,  predict  fortunes, 
and  above  all,  to  bewitch  a  man  and  make  him  do  whatsoever  they 
please. 

It  was  on  the  morning  after  this  day  of  gifts — a  gloomy  and 
cloudy  morning,  with  mist  lying  over  the  Devilswater  and  the 
meadow  beneath  the  Hall  ;  the  gentlemen  were  in  the  fields  shoot- 
ing ;  Lady  Katharine  was,  I  suppose,  in  the  chapel  ;  Lady  Mary 
was  dozing  in  her  chair  ;  the  maids  were  all  at  work  below  and  in 
the  kitchens.  I,  having  nothing  to  do,  and  a  heart  troubled  but 
full  of  joy,  began  to  roam  by  myself  about  the  great  house.  First 
I  went  into  the  library,  where  few  ever  sat.  Sometimes  my  lord 
went  thither  to  spend  an  hour  ;  he  was  a  gentleman  of  parts,  and 
possessed  as  much  learning  as  befits  a  man  of  his  rank.  An  earl 
must  not  be  a  writer  of  books  or  a  poet  by  trade,  though  he  may, 
as  Lord  Rochester  did,  write  witty  and  ingenious  verses  to  be 
given  to  his  mistress  or  to  please  the  Court.  Frank  Radcliffe  was 
often  there,  and  sometimes  Mr.  Howard.  To-day  when  I  opened 
the  door  I  saw  the  good  old  priest  sleeping  beside  a  great  wood  fire, 
on  his  knees  a  massive  volume  in  calf,  with  brass  clasps—  no  doubt  a 
learned  work  on  theology.  So,  not  to  disturb  him,  I  shut  the  door 
again  quite  softly,  and  went  along  the  passages  among  the  many 
old  rooms,  hung  with  tapestry,  and  furnished  after  an  antique  style. 
Some  of  them  were  occupied,  but  for  the  most  part  they  were 
empty,  and  I  looked  curiously  into  them,  half  afraid  of  the  deep 
Bhadows,  in  which  ghosts  might  linger.  If  I  entered  these  silent 
chambers,  I  peeped  hurriedly  into  the  mirrors,  fearful  lest,  as  has 
happened  to  many  honest  people,  I  might  see  a  second  face  in 
addition  to  my  own,  or,  which  is  worse  than  a  whole  procession  of 
ghosts,  not  my  own  face  at  all,  but  quite  another  one — a  strange,  a 
threatening,  and  an  angry  face — or  the  face  of  a  demon.  I  have 
often  prayed  to  be  protected  from  this  form  of  visitation,  of  which 
I  could  tell  many  stories,  but  refrain,  merely  saying  that  it  is  a  sure 
indication  ot  great  disaster  thus  to  see  a  strange  and  angry  face  in 
the  mirror  instead  of  your  own. 

The  house  being  so  silent,  the  air  without  so  misty,  and  the 
rooms  so  dark,  it  is  not  wonderful  that  I  presently  fell  into  that 


A  STRANGE  THING. 


139 


expectant  spirit  in  which  nothing  seems  strange,  so  that  if  all  my 
ancestors  on  the  Radcliffe  side  had  with  one  consent  marched  up 
the  corridor  to  greet  me,  I  should  have  taken  it  as  nothing  out  of 
the  way  or  even  unexpected.  It  is  a  condition  of  mind  into  which 
it  is  easy  to  fall  when  one  is  in  a  reverie. 

Now,  as  I  walked  along  the  passage,  I  became  aware  of  a  voice  : 
it  was  a  low  voice,  which  I  knew  very  well,  but  did  not  remember 
whose  it  was  (when  one's  head  was  full  of  Lord  Derwentwater, 
could  one  remember  the  voice  of  a  servant-maid?).  Without 
following  or  seeking  after  that  voice,  I  walked  by  accident  straight 
to  the  room  whence  it  came,  and  the  door  being  open,  and  I  not 
thinking  one  way  or  the  other  whether  I  ought  to  look  or  whether 
I  ought  not,  I  not  only  looked  in  at  the  door,  but  I  walked  into  the 
room.    Truly  I  was  as  one  in  a  dream. 

The  thing  which  I  saw  awakened  me  from  my  dream,  and  I 
started  and  was  seized  with  a  horror  the  like  of  which  I  never  felt 
before  and  hope  never  to  feel  again ;  because  I  saw  with  my  own 
eyes  the  bewitching  of  a  man  by  a  woman. 

It  was  a  large  low  room  without  much  furniture,  and  I  think  it 
had  once  been  used  for  a  children's  room,  for  there  were  little  chairs 
about,  and  broken  toys.  There  were  only  two  persons  in  the  room  : 
one  of  the  two  was  Frank  Radcliffe,  and  the  other  was  none  other, 
if  you  please,  than  Jenny,  my  own  maid.  That  Frank  should  con- 
descend to  hold  conversation  at  all  with  this  black- eyed  gipsy  girl 
might  have  filled  me  with  wonder ;  yet  I  was  not  so  young  or  so 
innocent  (what  country  girl  is?)  as  not  to  know  that  young  gentle- 
men will  often  stoop  to  rustic  wenches,  to  their  own  shame  and  the 
just  ruin  of  the  latter.  But  Frank  was  not  like  many  of  our  young 
bloods,  a  mere  hunting  and  shooting  creature,  born  to  destroy 
vermin  for  the  farmers  and  provide  game  for  the  table.  He  was  a 
gentleman  of  high  breeding  and  polished,  nay,  delicate  manners,  no 
more  capable,  one  would  think,  of  being  led  out  of  himself  by  the 
flashing  eyes  of  a  village  beauty  than  my  lord  himself ;  a  scholar 
too,  and  man  of  books.  Yet  here  he  was;  and  with  him,  Jenny. 
The  girl  was  sitting  on  a  high  chair  with  her  back  to  the  door,  and 
therefore  saw  me  not ;  nor  did  she  hear  my  footsteps.  Before  her, 
like  a  boy  at  school  before  his  master,  stood  the  young  man.  To 
think  that  she  should  sit,  and  he  be  standing  !  But  oh,  heavens  ! 
what  ailed  him  ?  His  eyes  were  open,  and  he  gazed  straight  before 
him,  so  that  he  looked  into  my  face,  but  he  seemed  to  see  nothing  ; 
his  arms  were  hanging  motionless  ;  he  stood  erect,  like  a  soldier 
with  a  pike  in  waiting  for  the  word  of  command  ;  his  cheek  was 
pale  :  he  seemed  as  one  whose  soul  had  fled  while  his  body  waits  for 
its  return,  or  as  one  entranced,  or  as  one  who  walks  in  his  sleep. 
Yet,  for  the  strange  feeling  upon  me,  as  if  anything  might  happen 
and  nothing  was  wonderful,  I  stood  where  I  was  and  looked  on  in 
silence,  though  what  I  saw  was  beyond  the  power  of  the  mind  to 
conceive. 

Were  they  play-acting  ?  But  in  no  play-acting  that  ever  I  heard 
of  does  the  actor  go  through  his  performance  with  face  so  motion- 


I40 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


less.    The  play-acting  was  nothing.    Jenny  lifted  her  finger,  Frank 
did  the  same.    Jenny  folded  a  paper  into  a  kind  of  narrow  tube 
and  gave  it  him,  muttering  something  in  a  low  voice.    Then  he  put 
the  tube  to  his  lips,  and  made  as  if  he  were  smoking  a  pipe. 
Then  J enny  made  another  gesture,  and  he  dropped  the  paper. 

*  Think  next,'  she  said  imperiously,  '  of  my  own  people,  the 
gipsies.  I  want  to  know  what  old  granny  is  doing,  and  what  she  is 
saying.    If  she  is  making  a  charm,  tell  me  how  she  makes  it.' 

'  There  is  a  gipsy  camp,'  he  replied  slowly,  but  with  no  change  in 
his  eyes,  '  outside  the  houses  of  a  village.  They  have  drawn  their  carts 
round  an  open  space,  where  there  is  a  great  fire  and  a  pot  upon  it.' 

*  And  granny — what  is  granny  doing  ?' 

*  I  see  an  old  woman  lying  upon  the  boards  in  one  of  the  carts. 
A  young  man  lies  beside  her,  groaning  and  twisting  about.' 

'  What  does  granny  say  ?' 

'  She  bids  him  cheer  up  ;  for  what  is  a  simple  flogging  at  the 
cart- tail  when  once  'tis  over  ?  And  what  is  a  sore  back  to  the 
rheumatism  in  every  bone  ?' 

*  It  is  my  cousin,  Pharaoh  Lee,'  said  Jenny.  '  Poor  Pharaoh  !  He 
has  been  stealing  poultry,  no  doubt.  The  back  of  him  should  be  of 
leather  by  now,  unless  backs  get  the  softer  for  flogging,  like  a  beef- 
steak.   Well  Leave  the  camp,  and  think  of  my  lord,  your 

brother.    So — where  is  he  ?' 

'  He  is  walking  beside  Tom  Forster,  fowling-piece  on  shoulder. 
But  he  looks  neither  to  right  nor  left,  and  he  is  not  thinking  of  the 
birds.' 

*  What  is  he  thinking  of,  then  ?' 

'  He  is  thinking,'  replied  Frank,  '  of  Dorothy.  His  mind  is  quite 
full  of  her.  He  can  think  of  nothing  else.  He  has  told  her  that 
he  loves  her,  and  before  she  goes  away  he  will  tell  her  so  again. 
"  Sweet  Dorothy  !"  he  says  in  his  mind.  "  Fair  Dorothy  !  There 
is  none  like  Dorothy  Forster." ' 

Now,  when  I  heard  these  words  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  things 
I  saw  and  heard  were  ghostly  and  sent  from  the  other  world,  where- 
fore I  fell  into  the  deadly  terror  which  seizes  those  who  behold 
such  things  and  receive  such  messages,  and  I  shrieked  aloud  and  fell 
into  a  swoon,  which  lasted  I  know  not  how  long. 

When  I  came  to  myself,  I  was  sitting  in  the  chair  where  Jenny 
(unless  it  was  a  vision)  had  been  exercising  her  witcheries.  She 
was  kneeling  at  my  feet,  beating  my  palms,  and  putting  a  cold  wet 
towel  to  my  forehead,  with  a  face  full  of  terror  and  surprise^ 

'  Ah  !'  she  said,  '  you  are  better  now,  my  lady.' 

'  What  is  it,  Jenny  ?'  I  cried,  clutching  her  hand  and  looking 
around.    '  What  is  it  ?    Where  is  he  ?' 

'  Where  is  he  ?'  she  repeated.    '  Why — who  ?' 

'  Mr.  Francis  Radcliffe.' 

'  Mr.  Frank  ?  Indeed,  your  ladyship,  I  know  not.  I  suppose  he 
may  have  gone  out  with  the  gentlemen  shooting,  or  perhaps,  because 
he  is  a  studious  gentleman,  he  is  in  the  library,  or  talking,  maybe, 
to  Mr,  Ililyard,   What  should  Mr.  Frank  be  doing  here  ?' 


A  STRANGE  THING, 


141 


*  Nay — but  I  caw  him !' 

'  Where  did  you  see  him  ?  Oh,  madam  !  rest  a  while.  Your 
poor  head  is  wandering.    You  must  have  had  a  shock.' 

'  I  saw  him,  I  say — here  with  you — wicked  girl !  with  your  sor- 
ceries.' I  pushed  her  from  me  ;  but  she  looked  astonished  and  not 
guilty  at  all — which  was  most  strange. 

'  Alas  !  madam,  what  sorceries  ?  I  know  not  what  you  mean.  I 
was  in  your  own  room  hard  by,  putting  up  the  lace  for  your  hair, 
which  I  shall  dress  by-and-by ' — my  own  room  was  close  at  hand, 
but  I  had  forgotten  it — 'when  I  heard  a  loud  cry  and  a  something 
fall,  and  ran  to  help — and  oh  dear  ! — oh  dear  ! — it  was  your  ladyship 
lying  on  the  floor  all  by  yourself,  with  a  face  as  white  as  a  sheet.' 

'  But  I  saw  him—  and  you  ' 

I  looked  about  the  room  ;  there  was  certainly  no  Frank  Radcliffe 
there.  Then  I  started  to  my  feet ;  the  fascination  was  quite  gone  ; 
it  went  away  as  suddenly  as  it  came.  I  determined  to  seek  out 
Frank  and  learn  the  truth  at  once. 

'  Stay  here,  shameless  girl !'  I  cried.  *  If  thou  hast  lied  thou 
shalt  leave  me  this  moment,  even  if  the  village  folk  burn  thee  for 
a  witch,  as  they  called  thee  at  Blanchland.' 

I  hastened  along  the  passages  and  down  the  stairs  to  the  library. 
Oh,  most  wonderful  !  Everything,  with  one  exception,  was  just  as 
I  had  left  it  half  an  hour  before.  Father  Howard  slept  in  the  quiet 
corner  beside  the  fire,  bis  great  volume  on  his  knee  ;  on  the  hearth 
there  slowly  burned  among  its  white  ashes  a  great  log  ;  the  silent 
books  stood  round  the  walls,  and  above  them  hung  the  portraits  of 
Radcliffes  dead  and  gone  ;  through  the  windows  I  saw  the  white 
mists  hanging  over  the  meadow  and  the  narrow  bed  of  Devilswater. 
Everything  the  same,  except  that  at  a  table  before  one  of  the  win- 
dows sat  Frank  himself,  two  or  three  books  before  him. 

'  Frank  !'  I  cried. 

*  Dorothy  !  What  is  it  ?  Your  cheeks  are  white  and  your  eyes 
are  frightened — what  is  it,  Dorothy  ?' 

'  How  long  have  you  been  here,  Frank  ?' 

'  I  think  all  the  morning,  Dorothy.    Why  ?' 

*I  saw — that  is,  I  thought  I  saw  you,  but  just  now,  in  the  north 
corridor.  Perhaps  it  was  imagination.  Yet,  I  thought — were  you 
not  there,  of  truth  ?' 

*  Indeed,  I  have  not  left  the  library  since  breakfast.  I  must  have 
been  asleep,  like  Mr.  Howard,  for  I  find  I  have  not  turned  the  page 
for  half  an  hour  and  more.  Do  you  think,  Dorothy,'  he  asked 
earnestly,  '  that  you  have  seen  a  ghost  ?  This  Dilston,  they  say,  is 
full  of  ghosts.    But  I  have  seen  none,  as  yet.' 

*I  know  not,'  I  replied,  'what  I  have  seen — or  what  it  means. 
Frank — you  have  told  me  the  truth  ?' 

I  could  not  doubt  the  truth  of  his  straightforward  eyes,  nor  the 
sincerity  of  his  assurance.  Wherefore,  with  a  beating  heart,  I  re- 
turned slowly  to  my  own  chamber,  and  found  Jenny  in  tears.  I 
thought  I  must  have  seemed  harsh  to  her,  feeling  now  certain  that 
what  I  had  seen  was  a  vision  of  a  disordered  brain.    Yet,  why  should 


142 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


the  brain  of  a  girl  newly  made  happy  by  the  most  noble  lover  in 
the  worJd  be  disordered  ?  Therefore  I  bestowed  upon  her  a  frock, 
a  hood,  and  a  pair  of  warm  cloth  gloves,  for  a  New  Year's  gift,  and 
told  her  that  I  must  have  had  some  dream  or  seen  some  vision,  and 
that  I  blamed  her  no  longer  ;  though  at  heart  I  felt  some  suspicion 
still,  because  the  dream  or  vision,  if  such  it  had  been,  remained  in 
my  mind  clear  and  strong,  so  that  I  could  not  choose  but  think  it 
real.  And  yet,  that  Frank  should  have  been  in  the  library  since  the 
morning  and  never  once  left  it  ! 

In  the  afternoon  I  told  the  whole  to  Mr.  Hilyard,  and  confessed 
to  him  that,  although  I  was  now  certain  that  I  had  been  deceived 
or  that  I  was  under  some  charm,  yet  I  felt  uneasy.  He  received 
my  story  with  great  seriousness,  and  began  to  consider  what  it 
might  mean. 

'  Truly,'  he  said,  'if  this  be  a  vision,  and  not  a  cheat  by  the  girl 
Jenny — but  how  could  she  cheat  without  the  assistance  of  Mr. 
Frank  ? — it  is  a  very  serious  and  weighty  business.  It  is  a  pity 
that  you  did  not,  before  you  swooned  away,  throw  your  arms  about 
the  effigies  or  apparition  of  the  girl,  as  was  done  by  Lord  Colchester 
about  fifty  years  ago,  when  he  clasped  thin  air,  as  Ixion  clasped  his 
cloud.  We  may  not  doubt  that  warnings  may  take  various  shapes. 
Thus  it  is  related  on  good  authority  from  Portsmouth  that  a  gentle- 
man of  that  place  has  been  lately  troubled  by  the  apparition  of  a 
man  who  constantly  pursues  him  and  reproaches  him  for  some 
secret  crime  ;  and  Colonel  Radcliffe  affords  another  instance,  who 
is  also  followed  continually  by  some  unseen  enemy.  There  is  also 
the  authentic  story  of  the  ghost  of  Madam  Bendish,  of  East  Ham, 
near  London,  who  lately  appeared  to  an  old  gentleman  there,  and 
bade  him  reprove  an  obstinate  son  with  Proverbs,  one,  two,  and 
three.  There  was  also,  only  a  short  time  ago,  the  young  gentleman 
of  All  Hallows,  Bread  Street  Parish,  who  had  a  vision  of  a  burial, 
the  cloth  held  by  four  maids,  which  came  true  of  himself.  And  the 
ghost  of  Thomas  Chambers,  of  Chesham,  in  Buckinghamshire,  was 
after  his  death  seen  by  many,  but  especially  the  maid  of  the  house, 
leaning,  in  a  melancholy  posture,  against  a  tree,  attired  in  the  same 
cap  and  dress  in  which  they  laid  him  out.  We  may  no  more  deny 
these  appearances  than  we  may  deny  the  existence  of  the  soul  or 
our  immortal  hopes.  Besides  v/hich,  if  more  testimony  were  wanted, 
Plutarch,  Apuleius,  and  all  the  Homan  and  Grecian  histories  are 
full  of  such  instances.' 

*  But,  Mr.  Hilyard,  is  there  any  like  my  own  ?' 

'I  know  not  one,'  he  replied  thoughtfully:  *for  there  is  no 
threat,  nor  any  call  for  repentance.  You  have  nothing  to  do  with 
gipsies  and  flogging  of  backs  ;  and  there  remains  the  friendly  and 
comfortable  assurance,  if  I  may  make  so  bold  as  to  say  so,  of  my 
lord's  disposition  and  afOection — of  which  I,  for  one,  have  long  been 
fully  certain.  So,  Miss  Dorothy,  I  would  advise  and  counsel  that 
nothing  more  be  said  or  thought  about  this  strange  thing,  especially 
to  the  girl,  lest  she  be  puffed  up  with  conceit  and  vanity.' 

What  happened  that  same  day  was  this,  though  I  heard  it  not  till 


A  STRANGE  THING, 


143 


loug  afterwards.  Mr.  Hilyard,  on  leaving  me,  repaired  to  a  quiet 
chamber,  where  he  would  be  undisturbed,  and  then  sent  for  Jenny 
to  attend  him. 

She  came  in  fear  and  trembling. 

*  Now,'  he  said,  shaking  his  fore-finger  in  a  very  terrible  way, 

*  what  is  this  I  hear  about  Mr.  Francis  and  yourself  ?' 

'  I  know  nothing,  sir,'  she  began. 
'  About  the  camp,  now.' 

'  If  Miss  Dorothy  thought  she  heard  Mr.  Frank  tell  me  about  my 
cousin  Pharaoh's  back,  she  must  have  dreamed  it.' 

'  JSTow,  girl,  thou  art  caught.  Know  that  your  mistress  snid  not 
one  word  to  you  of  Pharaoh  and  his  back,  which  I  hope  hath  been 
soundly  lashed  for  his  many  thieveries.  Therefore,  since  I  know  it, 
because  she  told  me,  and  since  she  hath  not  told  you,  pray,  how  do 
you  know  it  ?  Grirl,  on  your  knees  and  confess,  or  worse  will 
happen  to  thee.' 

Upon  this  she  burst  into  tears,  fell  upon  her  knees,  and  confessed 
a  most  wonderful  thing,  which  made  Mr.  Hilyard's  very  wig  to 
stand  on  end,  so  strange  it  was. 

She  owned  that  she  possessed,  having  learned  it  from  her  grand- 
mother, a  strange  and  mysterious  power  over  certain  persons  ;  that 
she  amused  herself  with  trying  it  upon  various  men  ;  that  there 
was  a  poor  fellow  at  Blanchland  whom  she  could  make  to  fetch  and 
carry  at  her  will ;  but  that  there  was  no  one  over  whom  she  had 
greater  power  than  over  Mr.  Frank. 

Being  asked  if  he  knew,  she  denied  it,  saying  that,  although  it 
pleased  him  to  converse  with  her  sometimes,  and  to  learn  from  her 
the  secrets  of  palmistry,  and  other  little  things  which  he  persuaded 
her  to  teach  him,  he  had  no  knowledge  of  the  trance  into  which  she 
could  throw  him  at  will ;  and  that,  during  that  period,  he  could  tell 
her  what  people  were  doing  anywhere  in  the  world,  and  what  were 
their  thoughts  ;  that  she  was  exercising  this  gift  of  sorcery,  the 
power  of  which  belongs  only  to  the  gipsies,  and  to  few  among  them, 
when  Miss  Dorothy  surprised  her  ;  that  she  hastened  to  send  Mr. 
Frank,  still  unconscious,  back  to  the  library,  so  that,  when  he  re- 
turned to  himself,  he  knew  not  that  anything  had  happened  ;  and 
thereby  she  was  able  to  deceive  her  mistress. 

*  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  child !'  cried  Mr.  Hilyard  in  affi'ight, 

*  hast  thou  such  a  power  over  me  ?' 

Jenny  swore  she  had  none,  nor  was  like  to  have  if  she  tried  ;  and 
that  she  would  never  try  upon  him,  being  afraid  of  detection  ;  nor 
upon  his  honour,  Mr.  Forster,  as  in  duty  bound  ;  nor  upon  her 
mistress.  But  that,  as  to  this  young  gentleman,  he  forced  himself 
upon  her,  coming  continually  to  her,  and  begging  to  have  the  future 
revealed,  either  by  cards,  or  by  the  lines  of  his  hand,  or  the  shape 
of  his  head,  or  the  circumstances  of  his  birth  ;  and  then  nothing 
would  satisfy  him  but  to  know,  and  to  learn  for  himself  how,  and 
by  what  rales  and  observations,  these  things  were  done  :  so  that  he 
laid  himself  directly  open,  as  it  were,  to  the  Evil  One  ;  and  when 
the  young  witch,  for  so  one  must  now  think  her,  essayed  her  art 


144 


DOROTHY  fORSTER, 


upon  him,  he  fell  a  ready  victim.  Lastly,  the  girl  implored  Mr. 
Hilyard,  with  many  tears,  and  on  her  bended  knees,  to  forgive  her, 
promising  that  never  again  would  she  speak  with  Mr.  Frank,  nor 
practise  upon  him  this  truly  diabolical  art,  on  penalty  of  being 
instantly  dismissed  the  service  of  Miss  Dorothy,  and  haled  before  a 
Justice  of  the  Peace  to  be  dealt  with  as  a  witch. 

Well,  Mr.  Hilyard,  as  he  afterwards  confessed,  was  greatly  con- 
cerned at  this  narrative,  which  surprised  as  well  as  terrified  him. 
First,  he  endeavoured  to  convince  the  girl  that  she  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  Evil  One,  who  would  infallibly,  unless  she  repented,  bring 
her  to  such  sufferings  as  she  could  not  yet  even  dream  of  ;  next, 
that  it  was  the  height  of  presumption  for  her  to  exercise  this 
dreadful  power  upon  a  young  gentleman  ;  thirdly,  he  promised  to 
consider  what  was  best  to  be  done,  and,  if  he  could,  to  hide  the  fact, 
on  her  faithful  promise  to  abstain  for  the  future,  to  fast  once  a 
week  for  six  months  for  penance,  and  to  pray  night  and  morning  to 
be  delivered  from  the  Devil.    So  he  dismissed  her. 

*  Next,'  he  told  me  afterwards,  '  I  fell  to  thinking  how  dreadful  a 
thing  it  must  be  to  possess  this  power,  and  how  constant  a  tempta- 
tion there  would  be  to  use  it  for  one's  own  advantage,  or  to  gratify 
malice,  revenge,  and  private  spite  :  so  that,  if  all  possessed  it,  for 
one  who  would  use  it  for  the  public  good  a  hundred  would  use  it 
for  their  own  selfish  ends.  Further,  that  an  unfortunate  creature 
under  this  power,  and  compelled  by  this  influence,  might  commit 
the  most  horrible  crimes  and  know  nothing  about  it.  Why,  many 
a  poor  wretch  may  have  been  hanged  for  things  done  by  command 
of  her  who  had  bewitched  him.  And  as  for  me,  I  confess  (which 
shows  my  unworthiness)  that  I  forgot  the  wickedness  of  tempting 
the  Lord  and  the  sin  of  Saul,  and  longed  to  consult  so  strange  an 
oracle  on  my  own  account.    From  this  I  was  protected  by  Grace.' 

For  my  own  part,  I  resolved  to  say  nothing  about  it,  thinking 
that  we  should  leave  Dilston  in  a  few  days,  and  that  meanwhile  I 
would  watch  diligently,  and  prevent  the  meeting  together  in  any 
place  of  the  girl  and  Mr.  Frank.  But  she  gave  me  no  more  trouble, 
and  I  think  there  was  not  another  meeting  before  we  went  away. 

CHAPTER  XVTI 

HE  LOVES  ME. 

Of  all  pleasant  things  upon  the  earth,  there  cometh  an  end  in  time. 
Nay,  the  more  pleasant  are  the  things,  the  shorter  they  are,  and  the 
faster  do  they  hasten  away.  This  is  wisely  ordained  lest  we  forget 
in  the  present  the  joys  which  await  us,  greater  than  mind  can  con- 
ceive or  tongue  can  utter,  in  the  world  to  come.  Whereas  I,  for 
my  part,  by  foretaste,  and,  as  it  were,  by  looking  through  the  gates 
of  Paradise  (which  I  certainly  was  permitted  to  do  while  my  lord 
bestowed  his  affections  upon  me),  am  privileged  above  my  less 
fortunate  fellow-creatures  to  know  something  of  the  grateful, 
happy,  and  contented  heart  of  those  who  wear  the  golden  crown 
and  play  upon  the  golden  harp. 


HE  LOVES  ME. 


U5 


As  the  time  drew  near  for  us  to  go,  it  seemed  as  if  everybody 
multiplied  kindness.  The  two  ladies  gave  me  more  pretty  things 
with  generous  words,  and  Lady  Mary  whispered,  pressing  my  hand, 
*  My  dear,  remember  that  a  Eadcliffe  must  always  be  a  Catholic,' 
and  I  said  '  Yes  ;  that  I  knew  it  well,'  thinking  that  she  meant  only 
that  her  nephew  must  not  be  converted  to  the  Church  of  England 
by  me.  Lady  Katharine  took  both  my  hands  in  hers,  and  kissed 
me  on  the  forehead,  saying  that  no  doubt  I  should  be  led,  by  plea- 
sant ways,  to  see  the  beauty  and  joyfulness  of  that  Fold  wherein 
alone  poor  sinful  man  could  find  peace  and  rest  for  his  soul.  This, 
too,  I  took  for  little  meaning,  because  she  was  so  good  and  so  pious 
a  woman  that  she  wished  everybody  to  belong  to  her  own  Church. 
Nor  did  I  yet  understand  what  was  meant  by  the  text  which  forbids 
an  unequal  yoke.  Certainly,  we  who  had  been  brought  up  among 
so  many  Catholics,  seeing  them  no  worse  (if  no  better)  in  honour, 
loyalty,  and  virtue  than  ourselves,  were  not  likely  to  consider  a  man 
an  unbeliever  because  he  attended  Mass.  To  this  day,  though  I  have 
long  pondered  upon  the  matter,  I  cannot  quite  persuade  myself 
that  St.  Paul,  when  he  set  down  certain  instruction  of  his  command, 
was  thinking  of  the  Pope  and  his  followers.  No  ;  I  was  thinking 
if  I  turned  my  thoughts  at  all  in  that  direction,  which  I  doubt,  that 
my  lord  might  go  to  Dilston  Chapel  and  I  to  Hexham  Church,  a 
separation  painful  in  the  idea,  but  doubtless  it  would  be  made 
tolerable  in  time. 

Mr.  Errington,  of  Beaufront,  hinted  at  the  matter  more  plainly. 
He  said  that  he  was  rejoiced  to  find  that  my  lord's  fancy  was  so 
soon,  and  so  happily,  fixed.  That  the  Forsters  were  fully  the  equals 
of  the  Radcliffes,  though  there  was  not  yet  an  earl  or  a  baron  among 
them. 

'  My  dear,'  he  said,  being  an  old  gentleman  of  a  very  soft  heart, 
anxious  to  make  ladies  happy  when  he  could — '  my  dear,  I  knew 
and  loved  Lady  Crewe  ten  years  before  she  married  the  Bishop  :  a 
beautiful  creature,  indeed,  she  was,  and  full  of  great  majesty,  yet 
not  so  beautiful  as  you,  my  second  Dorothy,  believe  me.  For  thou 
art  as  sweet,  and  gracious  withal,  as  she  was  dignified.  We  country 
gentlemen  were  too  rude  and  plain  of  speech  for  her.  I  blame  her 
not,  and  she  was  born  to  be  a  Peeress,  as  was  manifest  by  her  beauty 
and  the  awe  with  which  she  surrounded  herself,  as  you,  my  child, 
for  your  beauty  too,  and  for  your  sweetness.  Hath  my  lord  told  you 
that  your  smile  is  like  the  sunshine  on  a  field  of  growing  corn?' 

*  Oh,  sir  !'  I  replied,  "  my  lord  hath  paid  me  many  sweet  compli- 
ments, and  I  think  my  heed  is  half  turned.' 

*  Nay ;  a  beautiful  woman  cannot  rejoice  too  much  in  her  beauty. 
See  now,  Miss  Dorothy ;  we  are  all  of  us  pleased  that  my  lord  shall 
marry  a  North-country  maiden,  one  of  ourselves  :  the  marriage  of 
his  father  was  not  happy  :  we  desire  to  keep  all  Radcliffes  to  the 
north ;  moreover,  generous  as  he  is,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  his 
lordship  does  not  know  our  gentlemen  and  their  ways  ;  nor  our 
people  and  their  ways  ;  he  must  put  off  a  little  of  the  Versailles 
manner  and  descend  to  plain  folk/ 

10 


146 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


Oh  !'  I  declared,  *  one  would  not  wish  him  altered  one  jot  from 
what  he  is.' 

'  Nay,  keep  him  as  he  is  ;  but  make  him  something  more.  It  is 
'  not  enough  to  give  ;  he  must  understand  his  people.  Well,  he  can 
have  no  kinder  schoolmaster.  Pretty  Dorothy !  Thy  blushes  become 
thee,  child,  as  its  bloom  becomes  the  peach.  As  for  the  one  obstacle, 
to  my  mind  it  needs  not  to  be  named.  One  religion  will  take  a 
man  to  heaven  as  well  as  another,  though  Mr,  Howard  would  not 
acknowledge  it ;  and  I  am  a  Catholic,  and  should  not  say  so.  Let 
not  pride  prevent  the  removal  of  that  obstacle.  A  religion  held  by 
so  goodly  a  part  of  Christendom  cannot  be  wrong  ;  and  you  shall 
be  rewarded  with  the  noblest  ycung  lover  that  exists,  I  believe,  in 
the  whole  world.' 

This  speech  chilled  my  spirits  very  considerably.  For  to  change 
my  religion — what  would  her  ladyship  say  ?  What,  my  father  ? 
what,  my  brother  Tom  ?  what,  the  Bishop  ?  Yet  what  matter 
what  all  together  said,  if  it  made  my  lord  happy  ?  And  so,  at  the 
moment,  it  seemed  a  small  thing  and  easy  to  change  one's  articles 
of  religion  and  accept  the  chains  of  the  Roman  Faith. 

Next,  Mr.  Howard  sought  me  and  begged  a  word.  He  said, 
speaking  very  gravely,  that  no  one  could  affect  ignorance  of  the 
fact  that  my  lord  was  fully  possessed  with  the  idea  of  a  certain 
lady  ;  that  the  subject  was  much  in  his  own  mind  ;  that,  on  the 
one  hand,  it  was  greatly  to  be  hoped  that  he  would  ally  himself  to 
a  family  of  the  north,  and  v/ith  a  gentlewoman  whose  good  sense 
and  moderation  would  prevent  him  from  falling  into  the  snares 
always  laid  for  such  as  his  lordship.  But  these  dangers  were  in- 
creased in  his  case  by  his  ignorance  of  England  and  the  English 
people  ;  for  example,  that  there  was,  he  believed,  great  exaggera- 
tion as  to  the  strength  of  the  Prince's  cause,  and  therefore  great 
caution  must  be  observed  as  to  any  decisive  movement ;  that  he 
believed  myself  —  that  certain  lady,  namely — capable  of  giving  good 
and  wise  counsel,  and  he  earnestly  prayed — at  this  point  of  his 
discourse  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes — that  should  the  thing  which 
he  suspected  proceed  farther,  such  a  measure  of  light  and  grace 
might  be  accorded  to  that  young  lady  as  to  lead  her  to  the  bosom 
of  the  ancient  Church — with  more  to  the  same  effect,  and  all  with 
such  earnestness  and  so  much  affection  towards  my  lord  and  his 
interests,  as  moved  me,  too,  to  tears  ;  especially  when  this  venerable 
man  spake  of  the  fellowship  in  the  Church  of  Christ,  one  and  in- 
divisible, so  much  was  I  moved,  so  deeply  did  I  feel  the  beauty  of 
the  pictures  which  he  drew,  that  I  verily  believe,  had  he  on  the 
spot  offered  to  receive  me — if  that  offer  had  been  made  in  the 
presence  of  my  lord  himself — alas !  one  knows  not ;  woman  is  at 
best  a  weak  creature,  easy  to  be  led — but  there  might  have  been 
one  more  Catholic  in  the  world  ;  there  might  have  been  a  happy 
bride  :  yet,  as  we  may  not  choose  but  believe,  and  as  the  Bishop 
himself  has  often  said,  things  are  directed  for  us  ;  we  know  not  for 
what  reason  we  are  guided  ;  nor  can  we  tell  in  the  great  scheme  of 
the  universe  what  part  even  so  insignificant  a  thing  as  a  young 


HE  LOVES  ME. 


147 


woman  (though  of  good  family)  may  be  called  upon  to  play.  His 
lordship  was  not  present ;  Mr.  Howard  did  not  offer  to  take  me  to 
the  chapel ;  and  so,  with  tears  on  both  sides,  we  parted.  Yet  it 
mnst  be  confessed  that  I  knelt  to  receive  his  blessing  as  if  he  had 
been  the  Bishop  of  Durham  himself.  When  one  converses  with 
Papists  like  Mr.  Howard,  men  so  gentle,  so  blameless  in  life  and 
conversation,  so  learned  and  so  benevolent,  one  wonders  about  the 
hard  things  said  daily  of  the  ancient  Church  ;  one  forgets  the  cruel 
fires  of  Smithfield  ;  one  even  forgets  the  Spanish  Inquisition  itself. 
It  is  not  till  afterwards  that  one  asks  if  it  would  be  possible,  even 
for  the  sake  of  a  lover,  to  belong  to  a  Church  which  yearly  tortures 
and  strangles  and  burns  men  whose  only  crime  is  to  think  for  them- 
selves. How  can  these  things  be  ?  How  can  the  same  Church 
produce  at  once,  in  the  same  generation,  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Howard 
and  such  as  the  Grand  Inquisitor  ? 
Then  Frank  Radcliffe  came. 

'  I  am  right  sorry  you  are  going,'  he  said.  *  The  place  will  be 
dull  without  you,  Dorothy.  My  lord  will  hang  his  head  and  mope. 
I  shall  have  no  one  to  talk  with.  But  you  will  come  back  soon. 
Promise  me  that,  Dorothy.  You  know  very  well  what  I  mean. 
Come  back  and  make  us  all  happy.' 

*  Indeed,'  said  I ;  *  would  my  coming  back  make  you  all  happy  ?^ 

^  First,'  he  said,  *  it  would  make  my  brother  happy,  because  he  is 
in  love  with  you  ;  next,  me,  because  I  love  you  too,  and  just  as 
well,  but  a  man  must  give  way  to  his  elder  brother  ;  next,  because 
Charles  also  loves  you,  and  swears  he  is  your  knight  till  death  ;  and 
next,  on  account  of  my  aunts,  who  will  be  happy  if  the  Earl  is 
happy.    All  of  us,  fair  Dorothy.' 

*  But,  Frank — it  is  good  of  you  to  say  this— but  remember  that 
I  know  not  what  my  lord  may  intend  ;  and  if  it  were  as  you  say, 
there  would  be  much  to  consider.' 

'  Oh,  the  Mass — the  Mass  !'  he  replied  impatiently.  '  When  one 
is  brought  up  in  the  Fold,  one  troubles  one's  head  little  about  these 
things.  To  give  up  the  Church  would  be  a  great  thing,  but  surely 
there  can  be  no  trouble  about  coming  back  to  it.' 

This  shows  how  prejudiced  the  mind  may  become,  when  ac- 
customed to  the  pretensions  of  Eome.  But  I  was  better  brought  up. 

.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  the  contemplation  of  this  amiable  family, 
all  combined  in  pressing  upon  me  to  accept  what  I  most  of  all  things 
in  the  world  desired  to  obtain,  was  very  moving  to  me  ;  and  when 
/jord  Derwentwater  himself  conversed  with  me  on  the  subject,  I 
M'as,  I  now  confess,  ready  to  yield  unconditional  submission.  If 
men  onlj^  knew  the  weakness  of  women,  they  could  make  them  say 
or  do  what  they  please.  But  perhaps  men  themselves  are  not  so 
strong  as  they  seem  to  be.    Indeed,  that  must  be  so. 

'  Fair  Daphne,'  my  lover  began,  '  it  is  sad  indeed  to  think  that 
to-morrow  thou  must  go  from  us.  The  sun  will  shine  no  more  in 
Dilston.' 

'  Oh,  my  lord,'  I  said,  '  do  not  talk  any  more  the  language  of 
gallantry  ;  you  have  spoiled  me  enough.    I  am  but  plain  Tor.^ 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


Forster  s  sister,  and  in  Northumberland  we  are  not  accustomed  to 
your  fine  French  compliments.  Let  me,  however,  thank  your  lord- 
ship for  your  very  great  kindness  both  to  my  brother  and  to  myself.* 

*  Let  there  be  no  longer,  then,'  he  said,  and  as  he  spoke  his  beau- 
tiful eyes  grew  so  soft  and  his  voice  so  sweet  that  oh !  my  heart 
melted  clean  away,  and  I  could  have  fallen  at  his  feet,  even  like 
Esther  at  the  feet  of  the  great  King,  and  that  without  shame — 
'  let  there  be  no  longer  compliments  between  us.  You  shall  be  no 
more  the  nymph  Daphne  ;  you  shall  be,  what  you  are,  only  Tom 
Forster's  sister — only  the  beautiful  and  incomparable  Dorothy, 
whom  I  love.' 

'  Oh,  my  lord !  Think — I  am  no  great  lady  of  fashion— you 
would  be  ashamed  of  your  rustic  passion  in  a  week.* 

'Ashamed!  Why,  Dorothy,  with  their  paint  and  patches  and 
powder,  there  is  not,  believe  me,  in  all  Versailles  and  Paris,  to  say 
nothing  of  London,  which  I  know  not — there  is  nowhere,  I  swear, 
a  woman  fit  to  hold  a  candle  beside  so  sweet  a  face  as  yours.  My 
dear,  thou  art— no,  I  will  not  make  any  more  compliments.  But, 
Dorothy,  I  love  thee.'  And  with  that  he  fell  upon  his  knee,  and 
began  to  kiss  my  hand,  murmuring  softly,  '  I  love  thee,  my  dear — I 
love  thee  with  all  my  heart.' 

'  Oh,  my  lord!'  I  repeated,  the  fatal  words  having  been  spoken, 
overwhelmed  with  a  kind  of  terror  and  awe  and  shame,  because 
why  should  he  love  me  so  much  ?  '  You  love  me — you  love  me — 
alas  !  how  can  it  be  ?    What  shall  I  say — what  shall  I  say  ?' 

*  Say  only,  my  dear,  that  you  will  love  me  in  return.' 

Then  there  arose  in  my  mind,  doubtless  sent  by  Heaven,  the 
memory  of  certain  words  spoken  by  Mr.  Hilyard  concerning  the 
Church  of  England — how  that  it  was  as  ancient  as  the  Church  of 
Eome,  and  as  safe,  and  yet  unstained  by  the  blood  of  martyi's. 
Also,  I  seemed  to  see  before  me  the  awful  form  of  the  Bishop,  tall 
and  menacing,  beckoning  me  away. 

'  Speak,  Dorothy,  my  dear — oh,  Dorothy,  speak  !  Why  are  you 
trembling  ?  Merciful  Heaven  !  have  I  said  anything  to  terrify  this 
tender  heart?    What  troubles  my  love  ?' 

*  Oh,  Lord  Derwentwater,  it  is — the  Mass  !' 

He  let  my  hand  fall,  and  for  a  moment  he  was  silent.  Then  he 
began  again,  hotly : 

*  The  Mass  !  Is  it  a  Mass  shall  part  us  ?  Why,  child,  I  love  thee 
so  well  that  I  will  give  up  Church  and  all  for  thy  sweet  sake  if  thou 
wilt  not  give  up  thy  Church  for  mine.  The  Mass  against  thy  hand  ! 
Nay,  I  too  will  become  of  the  English  Church.  Thou  hast  con- 
verted me  already.' 

Was  there  ever  so  fond  and  true  a  lover  ?  But  I  remembered 
again  what  he  had  said,  months  before,  at  Blanchland. 

'No,  no,'  I  replied,  'you  cannot.  Other  men,  smaller  men,  may 
change  their  faith,  but  you  must  not.  llemember  what  you  told 
me  once-  ' 

'  Doth  my  sweet  Dorothy  remember  even  my  idle  words  ?  All 
my  words  are  idle  except  my  last— that  I  love  thee.' 


HE  LOVES  ME. 


149 


*  Do  I  remember  them,  my  lord  ? — as  if  I  could  ever  forget  them  ! 
You  said,  without  knowing  then  what  the  words  might  some  day 
mean,  that  I.  could  persuade  you  to  anything  except  what  concerns 
your  honour,  and  that  your  honour  is  concerned  with  your  faith. 
Never — never  shall  it  be  said  that  I  sought  to  turn  you  aside  from 
your  honour.  My  lord,  if  you  seriously  think  of  such  a  thing,  put 
it  out  of  your  mind.  Oh  !  what  is  a  foolish,  worthless  girl  com- 
pared with  the  career  and  the  history  of  a  great  lord  like  yourself  ?' 

He  would  have  replied  to  this  in  the  same  hot  strain,  for  there 
was  now  in  his  eyes  the  hot  flame  of  love  that  will  not  be  denied — 
the  masterful  look  which  frightens  women,  and  compels  them  (yet 
I  think  he  would  never  have  compelled  me  to  accept  the  sacrifice  he 
offered) — but  Mr.  Howard  stepped  between  us.  He  had,  I  suppose, 
entered  unseen,  and  heard  the  last  words. 

*  I  thank  you,  young  lady,'  he  said,  4n  the  name  of  a  greater  even 
than  his  lordship  ;  the  Holy  Church  thanks  you.  I  would  that  all 
her  daughters  were  as  noble  and  as  truly  great  as  yourself.  My 
lord,  your  passion  is  honourable,  as  becomes  your  rank.  You  would 
neither  do  yourself,  nor  ask  Miss  Dorothy  to  do,  what  in  her  con- 
science she  would  not  approve.' 

Lord  Derv  eat  water  answered  not. 

'  Part  here,  my  children,'  Mr.  Howard  continued  ;  *  enough  has 
been  said.  You,  my  lord,  can  afford  to  wait  six  months.  If  your 
passion  be  what  you  think  it  to  be,  six  months  is  a  short  time  indeed 
for  meditation  and  endeavour  to  make  yourself  worthy  of  this 
young  lady.  And  for  you.  Miss  Dorothy,  I  pray  you  to  read  the 
books  which  I  shall  give  you.  Believe  me,  you  have  my  prayers, 
my  earnest  prayers,  and  those  of  the  two  saintly  ladies  of  this  house. 
In  six  months  my  lord,  if  he  be  in  the  same  mind,  and  unless  you 
have  already  sent  him  away,  will  look  for  your  reply.' 

Lord  Derwentwater,  without  a  word,  fell  on  his  knee  again,  and 
kissed  my  fingers.    Then  he  left  the  room  with  bowed  head. 

'  Not  the  chief  of  the  Uadcliffes  only,  but  also  his  wife  and  his 
children  and  grandchildren  must  remain  in  the  ancient  Catholic 
Faith,'  said  Mr.  Howard  gravely. 

And  then  I  understood,  for  the  first  time  fully,  that  the  passion 
of  my  lord,  however  vehement,  would  never,  by  those  greater  than 
himself,  be  allowed  to  imperil  his  adherence  to  the  old  religion. 
Alas  !  just  as  poor  Frank  had  said,  '  You  play  with  us,  you  feast 
with  us,  you  sport  with  us  ;  but  you  will  not  allow  us  to  fight  for 
you,  or  to  make  laws  for  you,  to  administer  justice  to  you.'  Sc  I 
thought  bitterly  that  I  might  say,  as  a  Protestant,  to  the  Catholics, 
'  You  play  with  us,  you  feast  with  us,  you  make  love  to  us  ;  but  you 
will  not  marry  us.' 

CHAPTER  XYIII. 

A  CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 

So,  after  a  long  ride  of  three  days,  we  arrived  again  at  Bamborough 
— what  things  had  I  seen  since  last  we  left  the  Manor  House  ! — and 
in  the  quiet  life  as  of  old  I  had  leisure  to  read  and  reflect  upon  the 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


tracts  and  books  given  to  me  by  Mr.  Howard.    In  so  far  as  they 

spoke  of  obedience  to  authority,  then  truly  I  was  entirely  at  one 
with  his  friends,  because  I  had  always  been  brought  up  to  submit 
myself  dutifully  to  those  in  authority,  and  especially  my  spiritual 
pastors  and  masters.  Yet  I  was  thankful  that  our  own  rule  was  so 
light  and  our  yoke  so  easy  to  be  borne  compared  with  the  practices 
imposed  upon  the  f aithf id  in  that  other  flock — as  fasting  throughout 
Lent,  and  on  Fridays,  and  on  many  other  days  in  the  year.  But 
when  the  books  spoke  of  Early  Fathers,  and  writings  almost  sacred, 
and  Decretals,  and  so  forth,  then  was  I  lost ;  because  if  these  things 
were  true,  why  was  not  the  Lord  Bishop  converted  long  since,  and 
the  Vicar  of  Bamborough  ?  And  if  things  were  not  true,  as 
were  therein  stated,  why  was  not  the  Pope  himself  long  since  con- 
verted ?  Ah  !  how  happy  a  thing  it  would  be  for  the  whole  world 
if  the  Pope  could  be  converted !  There  would  then  be  no  more 
Inquisitions,  no  more  tortures,  no  more  quarrels,  no  more  parting 
of  lovers.  The  Bishop  of  Borne  would  be  but  as  the  Bishop  of 
Canterbury — and  this  is  a  foolish  woman's  idle  dream. 

Truly,  I  was  little  forwarded  for  all  my  reading.  I  had  no  one 
with  whom  I  could  consult,  because,  as  my  lord's  proposals  had  not 
been  made  either  to  Tom  or  to  my  father,  they  were  in  a  manner 
secret,  at  least  for  six  months.  Strange  that  Tom  suspected  nothing. 
Never  was  there  at  any  time  a  man  whose  thoughts  ran  less  upon 
love  or  anything  to  do  with  love  ;  and  as  he  never  fell  in  love  him- 
self (which  in  the  sequel  proved  a  fortunate  circumstance),  so  he 
never  thought  that  any  would  fall  in  love  with  his  sister.  Still  less 
would  it  appear  to  him  possible  that  this  could  be  the  case  with  so 
great  and  exalted  a  man  as  Lord  Derwentwater,  for  whom  he  enter- 
tained a  profound  veneration  in  spite  of  continual  assurances,  made 
to  gratify  his  own  vanity,  that  a  Forster  was  as  good  as  a  Eadcliffe 
(which  no  one  has  ever  doubted,  I  believe). 

For  a  time,  therefore,  I  meditated  alone  upon  this  important 
matter.  It  would  be  foolish  to  deny  that  I  was  greatly  taken  by 
the  prospect  which  thus  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  opened  out 
before  my  eyes.  Natural  pride  in  my  own  family  forbade  any  feel- 
ing of  inferiority — that  James  Radcliffe  was  the  third  earl  was  only 
owing  to  his  father's  marriage  with  King  Charles's  daughter,  who 
must  needs  have  a  husband  among  the  Peers.  The  first  baronet  of 
the  House  received  this  title  after — not  before — the  honour  of 
knighthood  was  conferred  upon  Sir  Claudius  Forster.  There  was, 
therefore,  no  inequality  as  to  family  ;  and  as  for  lands,  possessions, 
and  wealth,  it  may  be  truly  said  that  these  entered  little  into  my 
mind.  But  I  acknowledge  that  my  imagination  was  fired  with  the 
person  and  the  qualities  possessed  by  the  owner  of  this  coronet  and 
these  lands ;  and  never  since  have  I  looked  upon  the  like  of  that 
noble  gentleman — call  him  rather  a  prince — in  whom  were  gathered 
together  so  many  virtues  without  one  defect.  I  felt  in  some  sort 
even  ashamed  that  such  a  man  might  offer  his  hand  and  service  to 
one  simple  and  inexperienced  as  I  was,  a  mere  gentlewoman  with 
nothing  but  my  beauty  (such  as  that  might  be)  and  my  virtue  and 


A  CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 


piety  (why,  there  was  the  rnb)  to  recommend  me.  He  knew  Courts, 
and  the  great  ladies  of  Versailles  and  St.  Germain's.  Was  there  one 
of  them  too  high  for  him  ?  Was  there,  among  the  greatest  ladies  of 
the  proudest  aristocracy  in  the  world,  even  the  Kohans,  the  Mont- 
morencies,  or  the  Lusignans,  any  who  would  not  be  honoured  by 
such  an  offer  from  James  Radcliffe,  Earl  of  Derwentwater  ? 

To  refuse  it  would  seem  madness  ;  yet  to  accept  it  would  be — 
might  be— a  sin  so  gi'eat  that  it  would  never  be  forgiven.  It  is 
cruel  when  religion  is  pitted  against  love,  and  when  a  girl  has  to 
choose  between  her  lover  and  her  hopes  of  heaven. 

For  who  can  be  converted  by  merely  wishing  ?  Who,  by  argu- 
ment, reading,  or  thinking,  can  put  away  from  his  mind  the 
doctrines  in  which  he  hath  been  brought  up  from  childhood  ?  A 
woman  might  bring  herself  to  hear  Mass,  to  call  herself  a  Catholic, 
to  confess,  to  submit  to  the  Church  for  the  sake  of  her  lover  and 
her  husband  ;  but  with  what  despair  must  she  look  forward  to  that 
day  when  she  must  give  up  the  pretence,  and  confess  the  falsehood 
of  her  life  before  an  offended  Judge  ! 

I  had  from  infancy  been  taught,  and  now  firmly  held,  the 
doctrines  of  the  Christian  faith  as  professed  by  the  Church  of 
England.  By  what  reasoning  could  I,  unassisted,  exchange  these 
for  the  Roman  Catholic  doctrines  ?  And,  even  if  assisted — say  by 
Mr.  Howard — with  what  face  could  I  ever  afterwards  meet  the 
Bishop,  and  own  to  him  that  the  authority  of  this  simple  Romish 
priest  had  more  weight  for  me  than  the  authority  of  himself,  the 
great  and  lordly  Bishop  of  Durham  ?  Or  with  what  replj''  could  I 
meet  the  charge  that  I  had  thrown  away  my  religion  to  get  me  a 
lover  ?    Oh,  shame !    Yet  such  a  lover ! 

The  soul  can  play  all  manner  of  juggling  tricks  herself. 
Therefore  it  is  not  wonderful  that  a  woman  should  be  led  away  for 
a  time  with  cases  and  arguments  which  at  first  looked  pretty 
enough,  yet  soon  crumbled  into  dust  and  ashes.  As  that  Naaman 
was  allowed  to  go  with  his  master  into  the  Temple  of  Rimmon, 
though  it  is  nowhere  stated  that  he  was  to  profess  the  worship  of 
that  idol,  whoever  he  may  be.  (Mr.  Hilyard  said  it  was  the  Pome- 
granate and  the  symbol  of  fertility ;  but  who  would  be  so  foolish 
as  to  worship  a  mere  fruit?  ISTaaman's  master  must  surely  have 
been  better  than  a  fool.)  And  again,  the  example  of  Henry  IV.  of 
France,  which  hath  misled  many.  Truly  no  more  wicked  speech 
could  have  been  made  than  that  of  his,  in  which  he  spoke  of  valuing 
the  crown  of  France  at  more  than  a  Mass.  Put  against  this  the 
noble  example  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  who,  in  the  reign  of  Queen 
Mary,  went  daily  in  peril  of  her  life,  yet  would  not  give  up  the 
Protestant  religion  ;  and,  if  you  will,  the  examples  of  King  James 
II.  and  his  son,  who  gave  up  three  crowns  rather  than  relinquish 
the  faith  which  they  (wrongly)  believed  to  be  true.  There  is  no 
help  for  it,  I  suppose,  but  that  women  brought  up  in  the  Roman 
Faith  must  needs  abide  in  it.  How  much  the  more,  then,  that  we, 
who  belong  to  the  Pure  and  Reformed  branch  of  the  Universal 
Church,  should  cling  to  it  as  the  only  hope  of  our  souls!    As  for 


IS2 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


controversy,  Mr.  Hilyard  once  said  well,  '  There  is  nothing  more 
excellent  than  religion ;  but  to  raise  quarrels  over  it  is  to  dishonour 
it.  Why  should  that  which  is  designed  to  make  us  happy  in  another 
world  make  us  miserable  in  this  ?  Wherefore  it  comes  to  this,  that 
we  shall  never  all  be  perfectly  happy  till  we  are  all  agreed  upon  the 
Thirty-nine  Articles  of  the  Faith.' 

When  that  happy  event  will  happen  none  can  predict— perhaps 
not  till  long  after  the  present  century— a  third  part  of  which  is, 
while  I  write  these  words,  already  gone  ;  perhaps  not  till  the  nine- 
teenth century  itself  is  drawing  to  a  close,  and  the  end  of  all  things 
is  approaching. 

Then  I  laid  the  case,  but  with  feigned  names  and  false  circum- 
stances, before  Mr.  Hilyard.  I  inquired  of  him  his  opinion  as  to 
change  of  creed  in  general,  whether  there  were  no  cases  in  which  it 
would  be  allowed  (always  supposing  that  reason  and  conscience 
went  the  other  way).  Thus  I  put  before  him  (as  if  the  Prince  was 
in  my  mind)  the  case  of  a  sovereign  whose  conversion,  real  or  pre- 
tended, would  bring  happiness  to  his  country  ;  or  a  godly  minister 
whose  obedience  to  the  law  would  secure  his  services  to  his  helpless 
parishioners  ;  or  a  bishop  who,  by  outward  conforming,  might  keep 
moderate  doctrines  in  his  diocese ;  or  a  gentleman  who,  by  pro- 
fessing himself  of  the  Church  of  England,  might  obtain  a  commis- 
sion of  the  Queen,  and  so  rise  to  great  honour ;  or  a  woman  who, 
by  acknowledging  a  faith  in  which  her  conscience  forbade  her  to 
engage,  might  make  her  lover  happy,  and  perhaps,  in  the  event,  lead 
him  to  her  own  Church. 

There  never,  surely,  was  a  man  stronger  in  the  cause  of  virtue 
than  Mr.  Hilyard.  If  there  were  more  like  him,  the  wickedneas  of 
the  age  would  long  since  have  wholly  vanished.  As  for  the  example 
of  his  private  life,  it  becomes  not  a  fellow-sinner  to  judge.  If  we 
may  compare  small  with  great,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  King 
who  wrote  (by  Divine  guidance)  the  most  perfect  book  of  rules  for 
the  conduct  of  life,  did  by  no  means  set  a  pattern  of  self-denial  in 
his  own  practice.    So  with  Mr.  Hilyard. 

I  put  forward  my  question  with  much  confusion  and  many 
blushes,  because  I  feared  that  Mr.  Hilyard  might  guess  the  cause 
and  secret  purpose  of  my  simulated  cases.  He  answered  not  for 
some  moments,  looking  earnestly  into  my  face.  Then  he,  too, 
changed  colour,  and  gave  his  answer,  walking  about  the  room  and 
in  some  agitation  of  manner  which  surprised  me. 

*  As  for  the  cases  advanced,'  he  said,  'there  are  none  to  be  for  a 
moment  considered,  except  the  last.  The  King  who  sacrificed  his 
conscience  to  his  ambition  laid  open  a  way  to  greater  evils.  Heaven 
raised  up  in  Henry  IV.  a  champion  for  the  Protestant  Faith  second 
only  to  that  great  and  god-like  man,  Coligny.  Had  he  adhered,  the 
wars  might  have  continued  and  France  might  have  been  partitioned  ; 
but  the  Protestants  would  have  won  their  freedom.  The  duty  of  a 
minister  is  clearly  indicated  in  the  history  and  example  of  Mr. 
Gilpin,  of  Houghton-le-Spring,  who  persevered  in  his  Protestant 
teaching  throughout  the  reign  of  Bloody  Mary,  ever  keeping  ready 


A  CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 


r53 


a  white  shirt  in  which  to  present  a  comely  appearance  at  the  stake. 
Yet,  being  haled  up  to  London,  he  broke  his  leg,  which,  causing 
him  to  lie  in  bed,  saved  his  life,  because  Mary  died,  and  good  Queen 
Bess  succeeded.  As  for  a  young  gentleman  of  a  Catholic  family, 
we  have,'  he  said,  '  many  instances  around  us  of  those  who,  for  want 
of  a  profession,  pass  idle  and  ignoble  lives,  as  if  drinldng  and  sport 
were  the  only  objects  for  which  man,  a  rational  being,  was  created. 
But  as  for  their  consciences,  you  must  please  to  excuse  me.  I 
doubt  much  whether  the  conscience  of  such  a  young  gentleman 
would  trouble  him  so  much  as  his  sense  of  honour  ;  and  once  entered 
upon  the  roll  of  a  regiment,  there  would  be  mighty  little  further 
question  as  to  religion.  The  English  armies,'  he  added,  '  are  Protes- 
tant to  the  backbone.  That  cannot  be  denied.  Yet  how  far  their 
lives  and  daily  conversation  are  guided  by  their  religion,  and  how 
far  their  practice  is  conversant  with  their  profession,  I  am  not 
prepared  to  say.  If,  therefore.  Miss  Dorothy,  any  of  his 
honour's  Catholic  friends  are  minded  to  renounce  the  Pope,  in 
order  to  bear  a  pike  or  carry  the  colours,  encourage  them  by  all 
means.' 

'  There  remains,'  he  went  on  to  say,  '  the  last  case.'  Again  he 
stopped,  and  again  earnestly  gazed  upon  my  face.  'I  am  not,  I 
confess,  skilled  in  casuistry  ;  nor  can  I  advise  as  to  the  case.  Yet, 
were  it  to  arise,  I  would  advise  the  woman  to  whom  it  occurs  to 
take  the  matter  seriously  in  hand,  and  if  she  have  friends  and  rela- 
tions in  authority  and  high  places,  to  lay  the  decision  before  them, 
as  one  which  affects  not  her  happiness  only  or  the  happiness  of  her 
lover,  but  also  her  conscience  and  her  soul.'  He  said  this  very 
seriously,  so  that  his  words  fell  deeply  into  my  heart. 

'  I  know,'  he  went  on,  '  that  a  beautiful  woman  can  persuade  a 
man  who  loves  her  to  any  course  which  she  desires  ;  for  which 
cause  Kings  are  led  by  their  mistresses,  and,  in  Catholic  countries, 
the  mistresses  are  guided  by  the  priests.  We  need  not  go  back  to 
consider  the  case  of  Achilles,  of  Samson,  ^neas,  David,  Marc 
Antony,  and  Solomon.  There  are  instances  enough  of  our  own 
times.  Witness  our  own  Charles  II.,  and  the  Crand  Monarque 
himself,  now  a  slave  to  Madame  de  Maintenon.  Truly,  Miss 
Dorothy,  an  amorous  man  is  like  a  weathercock  in  the  hands  of  the 
woman  whom  he  loves.  Wherefore  the  poets  have  rightly  feigned 
that  love  turns  one  into  a  boar,  and  another  into  an  ass,  and  a  third 
into  a  wolf — why,  the  French  King  hath  been  boar,  wolf,  and  ass 
in  turn.  But,  you  may  argue,  the  virtuous  love  of  one  woman  and 
one  man  is  not  to  be  compared  with  the  fleeting  amours  of  a  King. 
That  is  indeed  true  ;  not  the  less  is  it  true  that  the  woman  able  to 
fix  the  affections  of  one  who,  though  a  husband,  remains  a  lover, 
may  lead  him  whithersoever  she  pleases.  The  case.  Miss  Dorothy, 
is  too  high  for  me.  If  I  were  a  Jesuit,  I  should  say,  "  The  end 
justifies  the  means  ;  let  the  maiden  confer  happiness  upon  the  man, 
relying  on  her  strength  to  lead  him  into  a  better  way."  But  I  am 
an  English  Churchman,  and  I  doubt.  The  rule  is  laid  down  plain 
for  all  to  read,  "  The  lip  of  truth  shall  be  established  for  ever,  but  a 


154 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


lying  tongue  is  but  for  a  moment."  Wherefore  let  this  young 
gentlewoman  seek  counsel  of  those  in  authority.' 

Mr.  Hilyard  said  this  with  so  much  gravity  that  his  words  sank 
into  my  heart,  and  I  began  to  ask  myself  seriously  whether,  even 
for  my  lover,  I  ought  to  do  so  grave  a  thing.  For  several  days 
afterwards  I  observed  that  he  was  agitated,  and  would  go  a-walking 
by  himself  in  the  garden,  shaking  his  forefinger  as  he  went,  as  one 
does  who  is  in  trouble.  I  knew  very  well,  poor  man,  that  he  was 
in  trouble  about  me,  and  that  he  had  divined  my  secret. 

I  followed  not  his  advice,  however,  in  asking  the  counsel  of  those 
in  authority.  Rather  I  put  the  decision  off,  as  is  the  custom  of 
women  when  in  a  doubt.  Time,  accident,  authority,  would  decide. 
Again,  a  woman  must  not  for  ever  be  thinking  about  her  love 
affairs.  Was  there  not  my  brother  Tom  to  think  of  ?  Then  came 
the  spring,  and  June  was  upon  us,  and  my  lord's  visit  was  to  come 
within  a  very  little  while,  and  I  was  no  nearer  the  Altar  and  the 
Mass  (yet  open  to  persuasion)  than  I  had  been  at  the  New  Year. 

I  know  not  how  Lady  Crewe  became  possessed  of  my  secret,  and 
therefore  I  was  greatly  astonished  when  I  received,  only  the  day 
before  my  lord  arrived,  the  following  letter,  sent  to  me  all  the  way 
from  Durham  by  special  messenger.  The  letter,  wrapped  in  three 
folds  of  paper,  was  superscribed  :  '  These  for  the  private  eye  of  my 
niece,  Dorothy  Forster.'  I  opened  it  with  such  fear  and  trembling 
as  always  seize  the  person  who  receives  a  letter.  And  all  the  more 
because  I  knew  from  whence  it  came,  and  guessed  quickly  what  it 
might  contain. 

^  My  dear  and  loving  Niece,'  the  letter  began, — *  It  hath  been 
brought  to  my  knowledge  that  a  young  gentleman,  whose  name 
need  not  be  mentioned  between  us,  is  desirous  of  making  thee  an 
offer  of  his  hand  and  estate.  The  hand  is  most  honourable  and  the 
estate  is  goodly.  Also  the  young  gentleman  is  reported  to  possess 
virtues  and  accomplishments  quite  uncommon  even  among  those  of 
exalted  rank.  For  these  reasons  the  Bishop  and  myself  would 
be  willing  to  give  our  approval  to  the  proposal  as  one  likely  to  lead 
to  the  earthly  happiness  of  both,  although  the  suitor  is  still  a  man 
in  very  early  manhood.  My  own  happiness,  as  my  niece  knows 
very  well,  has  been  obtained  by  marriage  with  a  man  forty  years 
my  senior,  and  immeasurably  above  what  any  woman  can  hope  in 
wisdom,  benevolence  a>I  true  piety.  Yet  I  say  not  that  happiness 
may  not  be  had  between  persons  more  nearly  of  an  age — when,  that  is, 
the  husband  is  able  to  inspire  respect,  if  not  awe,  and  the  wife  is 
filled  with  the  desire  of  doing  her  duty  according  to  the  submission 
enjoined  by  Apostolic  law. 

*  There  is,  however,  in  this  case,  the  difficulty  that  the  young 
gentleman  is  a  Catholic,  and  may  not  marry  any  outside  the  pale  of 
his  own  Church.  Nor  can  he,  being  bound  in  honour,  change  the 
faith  in  which  he  hath  been  educated.  My  lord  the  Bishop  hath 
very  seriously  considered  the  case,  and  asked  himself  the  question 
whether  a  young  woman  in  such  a  position  may  with  a  good  con- 


A  CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE, 


science  embrace  the  religion  of  her  lover.  He  bids  me  now  admonish 
you  that  such  an  act,  even  with  the  intention  of,  perhaps,  weaning 
her  lover  from  his  opinions,  cannot  be  allowed  as  lawful  or  permitted 
on  the  ground  of  expediency.  Wherefore,  my  dear  Dorothy,  should 
this  suit  be  persevered  in,  we  look  from  thee  for  such  behaviour  as 
becomes  the  dignity  of  a  Forster  and  the  duty  of  a  Churchwoman. 
And  think  not  but  that  thou  shalt  be  rewarded  in  some  way — 
how,  we  know  not,  yet  believe  that  she  who  doth  righteously  shall 
receive  a  crown.  Marriage,  child,  is  an  honourable  condition  ;  yet 
they  do  well  sometimes  who  are  not  married  ;  and  truly,  I  myself 
waited  until  I  was  already  twenty-seven  before  I  married  my 
lord. 

*I  learn,  further,  that  thy  brother  knoweth  nought  of  this 
matter.  It  is  well ;  Tom  is  more  generaus  than  prudent ;  his 
counsels  are  too  much  guided  by  the  wine  of  yesterday.  Tell  him 
nothing  unless  it  be  necessary  ;  let  it  not  be  known  for  vanity's 
sake  that  this  alliance  was  offered  to  you  ;  let  it  be  kept  a  secret, 
for  the  sake  of  the  young  gentleman,  that  you  refused  him.  In  all 
difficulties,  my  dear  niece,  write  to  me  for  guidance,  resting  well 
assured  that  the  Bishop  is  ever  ready  to  give  his  consideration  to 
the  affairs  of  his  wife's  family. 

'  I  hear  little  or  nothing  new  from  London.  They  talk  of  letters 
between  the  Prince  and  his  sister  ;  and  that  he  is  now  at  Bar-le-Duc. 
Our  friends  in  London  are  daily  growing  more  confident,  and  the 
country  is  reported  more  impatient ;  therefore  we  hope  and  pray 
daily  that  when  the  Queen  dies,  though  this  event  may  not  happen 
for  a  great  many  years,  the  Prince  will  quietly  return  and  take  his 
place  without  opposition,  or  any  bloodshed. 

*  I  grieve  that  my  nephew  Tom  doth  not  yet  consider  it  to  be 
his  duty  to  marry,  so  that  heirs  may  be  reared  for  the  great  estate 
which  he  will  some  day  obtain.  The  misfortunes  of  the  Forsters 
in  losing  three  goodly  sons  without  issue  have  been  so  great  that  I 
would  fain  see  another  generation  arise  in  whom  the  line  should  be 
continued.  There  were  nine  of  us  as  children — who  would  desire 
more  ? — and  now  but  one  survives— myself .  I  learn  that  the  monu- 
ment I  have  ordered  for  my  late  brother's  memory  is  nearly  ready 
for  Bamborough  Church  ;  wherefore  I  purpose  this  summer,  if  my 
lord's  health  continues  good,  to  journey  northwards,  in  order  to  see 
that  my  design  hath  been  faithfully  carried  out.  I  am  desired  by 
the  Bishop  to  convey  to  thee  his  blessing. 

*  Thy  loving  Aunt, 

*  Dorothy  Crewe.' 

This  letter  was  like  a  surgeon's  knife,  so  keen  was  its  edge  and 
so  intolerable  was  its  pain,  even  though  it  was  wholesome  for  the 
soul ! 

The  inclination  of  a  girl  is  not  a  thing  with  which  the  world  is 
concerned.  Yet  I  must  confeps  that  the  pain,  the  anguish,  the 
bitterness  of  losing  that  dear  hope  which  had  made  me  happy  for 
six  months,  were  more  than  I  could  well  bear.    Alas !  I  know  the 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


pains  of  love  as  well  as  the  blessings  of  love.  Oh !  why — why  could 
they  not  let  me  alone  ?  Why  should  not  I  make  my  lord  happy 
for  a  short  lifetime,  and  pretend  for  his  dear  sake  the  belief  which 
I  could  not  feel  ?  Happy  those  who  number  not  a  bishop  among 
their  parents  and  superiors  ! 

So  farewell,  love !  And  now  for  a  time  the  sun  was  to  be 
darkened,  the  moon  was  to  shed  no  light ;  there  would  be  no 
perfume  of  flowers,  sweet  breath  of  wind  :  the  sea  should  be  a 
blood-red  sheet,  and  the  green  fields  as  a  desert  of  sand,  until  the 
Lord  should  send  a  softened  heart  with  resignation  to  the  Heavenly 
will. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

MY  DECISION. 

J UST  as  Mr.  Forster's  visit  to  Dilston  is  by  some  pretended  to  have 
had  a  political  meaning,  so  Lord  Derwentwater's  visit  to  Bamborough 
in  the  following  June  is  also  wrongly  so  described,  as  will  imme- 
diately become  apparent.  In  truth,  there  was  in  neither  any 
political  or  rebellious  intentions  whatever  ;  but  as  at  Dilston  the 
Radcliffe  cousins  assembled  to  keep  their  Christmas  and  New  Year 
with  the  Earl,  so  at  Bamborough  the  Protestant  gentlemen,  in- 
cluding those  who  then  and  afterwards  remained  well  affected  to 
the  Hanover  usurpation,  gathered  together  to  meet  Lord  Derwent- 
water.  People  in  the  south  cannot  understand  how  Protestants 
and  Catholics  can  meet  in  Northumberland  without  immediately 
falling  to  loggerheads  and  quarrelling  about  the  Pope.  And  it 
seems  the  belief  of  the  common  sort  in  London  that  the  appearance 
of  a  Catholic  should  be  the  signal  for  the  throwing  of  brickbats, 
dead  cats,  and  stones  at  his  head.  This  kind  of  piety  we  do  not 
understand.  Alas !  it  was  my  unhappiness  daring  this  time  of 
companj^,  when  everyone  expected  smiles  and  a  face  of  joy,  to  feel 
that  such  a  reply  would  have  to  be  given  to  my  lord  as  would  fill 
two  hearts  with  unhappiness.  I  carried  Lady  Crewe's  letter  with 
me  always,  not  for  comfort,  but  for  support,  for  it  afforded  me 
small  consolation  to  know  that  I  had  the  permission  or  license  of 
the  Church  to  make  myself  unhappy.  Father  Howard,  on  the 
other  hand,  would  have  given  me  authority  to  be  happy.  I  per- 
ceived, too,  that  Mr.  Hilyard  had  fully  divined  my  secret,  because 
he  now  sat  glum,  and  looked  at  me  with  eyes  full  of  pity,  though 
he  spoke  not  for  a  time.  This  is  a  grievous  thing  for  a  young 
woman  who  hath  a  great  secret,  to  find  that  a  third  person  has 
guessed  it  ;  for  then  must  she  either  confess  it  to  that  person,  in 
which  case  she  blabs  the  secret  of  another,  or  she  must  go  on  pre- 
tending to  hide  what  has  already  been  discovered,  like  an  ostrich 
with  her  eggs,  or  the  pelican  who  is  said  to  bury  her  head  in  the 
sand,  and  so  to  think  that  all  is  concealed.  Mr.  Hilyard  gave  no 
sign  of  his  discovery  save  by  tell-tale  eyes,  which,  dissimulator  of 
looks  though  he  was,  could  not  hide  from  me  the  truth  that  he 
knew  my  trouble  and  sorrow. 

A  day  or  two  before  my  lord  arrived,  he  began,  Tom  being 


MY  DECISION. 


present,  to  speak  very  briskly  about  badgers,  otters,  cub-foxes,  sea- 
fowl,  and  other  things  with  which  his  lordship  might  be  amused  ; 
and  presently,  Tom  having  withdrawn,  he  said  to  me  gravely  : 

*  Miss  Dorothy,  I  would  that  I  could  hope  to  see  the  roses  return 
to  your  cheeks  when  my  lord  comes.  Believe  me,  those  others  who 
love  you  (in  thine  own  station  and  with  the  respect  due)  take  it 
greatly  to  heart  that  they  see  you  thus  going  in  sorrow  and  trouble.* 

At  these  kind  words  I  began  to  cry  and  lament. 

'  Nay,'  he  said,  '  there  is,  be  assured,  no  man  in  the  world  worth 
your  tears.  And  there  is  remedy  for  those  who  will  find  it,  as  is 
shown  in  the  "Remedium  Amoris."  Cressida  forsook  Troilus  for 
Diomede  ;  Paris  left  CEnone  for  Helen  ;  Helen  preferred,  to  the 
tender  care  of  the  best  of  husbands,  Paris  and  the  flouts  of  the 
Trojan  ladies  ;  one  Cupid  is  painted  contending  with  another, 
because  one  love  driveth  out  another.' 

*  I  know  not,'  I  replied,  '  how  there  can  be  two  loves  in  one  life. 
These  are  idle  words,  Mr.  Hilyard.  What  is  Helen  or  Cressida 
tome?' 

'  It  were  much  to  be  desired,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  without  replying 
to  this  question,  'that  the  passion  of  love  could  be  treated  as 
copiously  and  minutely  by  ingenious  women  as  it  hath  been  by 
men,  who  have  written  all  the  love-stories  and  poems  on  love,  so 
that  the  world  may  very  well  learn  the  miseries  caused  by  that 
passion  in  men,  and  its  incitements,  growth,  violence,  and  remedies. 
Yet  for  women  there  has  been  nothing  (a  few  fragments  by  Sappho 
excepted)  written  by  themselves  to  tell  of  the  origin,  symptoms, 
and  strength  of  the  passion,  nor  how  it  differs  from  the  coiTespond- 
ing  emotion  in  men.  So  that,  though  physicians  may  very  well 
understand  the  existence  of  the  disease  (if  it  be  a  disease),  even 
though  it  exhibit  to  outward  view  less  violent  symptoms  than  in 
men,  they  are  apt  to  treat  it  as  if  it  were  the  same  in  kind,  whereas 
(as  I  conceive  and  in  my  poor  judgment)  it  is  by  no  means  of  the 
same  kind.  This  I  could  make  manifest  to  you,  had  you  the  patience 
to  listen.' 

'  Indeed,  sir,'  I  said,  '  I  doubt  not  that  you  are  a  very  learned 
person  ;  but  suffer  me,  pray,  to  know  my  own  heart  without  your 
interpretation.' 

'  For  the  cure  of  love  in  young  men,'  he  went  on,  *  there  are 
prescribed  many  things  of  little  service  in  the  case  of  the  other 
sex.  For  instance,  fasting,  exercise,  study,  the  use  of  lettuce, 
melons,  water-lilies,  and  rue,  combined  (in  obstinate  cases)  with 
flogging.  None  of  these  remedies  seem  convenient  or  apt  for  a 
woman  ;  indeed,  for  a  true  remedium  amoris  I  think  there  is 
nothing  absolutely  sovereign  for  a  woman,  except  the  comprehen- 
sion or  the  discovery  that  the  object  of  her  passion,  on  account  of 
some  vitium  or  defect  which  he  may  possess  in  mind  or  body,  is 
among  his  fellows  contemptible  or  mean.  Others  think  that  a 
woman  is  most  easily  cured  by  the  knowledge  of  her  lover's  in- 
fidelity or  loss  of  affection  ;  but  this  produces  jealousy,  and  jealousy 
incites  to  revenge,  or  even  madness.    Wherefore,  Miss  Dorothy,  I 


158 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


would  recommend  to  all  young  ladies  who  are  in  love  that  they 
should  steadily  keep  before  their  imaginations  the  imperfections  of 
their  lovers.' 

'  Oh,  sir,'  I  cried,  Hhis  talk  is  trifling  !  You  have  found  out  my 
secret  and  shamed  me.  You  know  that  I  love  a  man  whom  I  cannot 
marry.  Let  that  be  enough.  Why  tease  me  with  this  foolish  prating 
of  lettuce  and  water-lilies  ?  My  lord  may — nay,  he  must — go  away 
and  find  another  woman  for  his  wife.  This  must  I  bear  without 
jealousy  or  revenge,  as  a  Christian  woman  should,  because  there  is 
no  help  for  it.  But  that  I  should  think  upon  his  defects,  who  hath 
none  !  Fie,  Mr.  Hilyard  !  I  thought  not  you  could  say  anything 
so  foolish  and  so  cruel.' 

'  Forgive  me,'  he  replied,  seeing  that  I  was  now  moved  to  anger. 

'Why,  after  this  foolish  talk  about  fickle  women  (I  may  not  have 
been  so  iDeautif  ul  as  Helen,  but  I  have  certainly  been  more  constant), 
and  about  the  symptoms  of  love  (as  if  any  woman  who  respects 
herself  would  talk  to  a  man  about  her  thoughts  and  hopes),  and 
about  love's  remedies  and  lettuces  (as  if  what  one  eats  and  drinks 
could  alter  the  affections  of  the  heart !) — after  all  this  talk,  I  say, 
to  advise  me  that  I  should  fix  my  mind  on  my  lord's  imperfections 
— of  all  men  the  least  imperfect !' 

'  Forgive  me,  Miss  Dorothy.  I  know  of  no  defects  in  his  lord- 
ship, except  that  he  hath  made  you  unhappy  with  loving  you — a 
thing  which  he  could  not  help,  unless  he  had  been  the  most  in- 
sensible of  men.  Yet  I  would  venture  on  anything  if  I  could  only 
restore  the  merry  face  of  my  mistress.  Did  you  take  counsel  with 
any— any  in  authority  ?' 

Here  he  blushed  and  looked  shamefaced  ;  I  know  not  why. 

'  Lady  Crewe  hath  written  to  me,  enjoining  me,  in  the  name  of 
the  Bishop,  to  proceed  no  farther.' 

'  Yet  your  happiness  is  more  to  me — I  mean,  to  yourself — even 
than  the  order  of  the  Bishop.  Wherefore,  Miss  Dorothy'  (he 
endeavoured  to  speak  boldly,  but  failed,  and  spoke  in  some  con- 
fusion, like  unto  one  who  first  would  open  up  his  mind  as  regards 
a  horrid  crime) — '  wherefore  let  us  consider  that  case  of  conscience 
which  you  once  laid  before  me  again.  It  may  be  that— we  shall 
see — the  Bishop  may  not  thoroughly  understand.  There  are  excuses ' 
(he  seemed  feeling  about  for  them).  '  It  may  very  well  be  argued 
that  a  young  gentlewoman,  such  as  you  described  in  your  questions, 
might  be  considered  as  an  exceptional  case  ;  for  not  only  her  own, 
but  also  her  lover's  happiness,  is  concerned.  And  he  a  great  noble- 
man. And  though  we  hold  a  purer  form  of  faith,  yet  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  the  Catholics  have  a  most  venerable  ' 

'  Oh,  Mr.  Hilyard,'  I  interrupted,  '  your  arguments  come  too  late  !' 

'  If  you  are  unhappy,'  he  replied,  ^  how  much  more  I,  who  am  the 
cause  !' 

'  You  the  cause 

*  Yes,'  he  hung  his  head  ;  *  because —because — well,  if  I  had  given 
a  different  reply  to  that  question.' 

He  sighed  again,  and  went  away ;  but  looked  as  if  there  was 


MV  DECISION. 


159 


something  still  on  his  mind,  if  he  dared  to  say  it  out.  And  still  he 
was  silent,  and  behaved  like  one  with  a  burden  on  his  conscience 
when  in  my  company.  But  this  did  not  at  all  prevent  him  from 
being  in  good  voice,  and  with  a  cheerful  countenance,  such  as  be- 
comes a  man  who  is  happy  and  of  a  clear  conscience,  when  Mr. 
Forster  had  visitors  and  the  drinking  and  singing  began.  However, 
I  had  long  ceased  to  wonder  at  the  variations  in  this  man,  all  for 
virtue  in  the  morning,  with  a  conscience  tender,  and  converse  pious 
and  sincere.  Yet  in  the  evening,  virtue  forgotten,  folly  made  wel- 
come, and  revelry  proclaimed  with  wicked  and  idle  songs. 

The  month  of  J une  is  the  spring  of  Northumberland,  and  a  most 
beautiful  time  it  is,  when  every  morning  yields  a  new  surprise,  and 
the  dullest  heart  cannot  but  rejoice  in  the  long  days  and  the  warm 
sunshine,  after  the  cold  east  winds  of  April  and  May.  In  June  the 
very  sands  upon  the  shore  below  the  castle  show  of  brighter  hue, 
while  the  hedges  are  gay  with  flowers,  and  the  trees  are  all  glorious 
with  their  new  finery  of  leaf.  Nowhere,  Mr.  Hilyard  assures  me, 
are  the  leaves  of  the  trees  more  large  and  full,  or  the  flowers  of 
field,  hedge,  and  ditch  more  varied,  than  in  this  favoured  county. 
It  is  in  this  month  that  a  young  lover  should  woo  his  mistress  ;  it 
was  in  this  month  that  Lord  Der  went  water  came  to  pay  his  court 
to  one  who  was,  alas  !  bidden  to  say  him  nay. 

He  came  for  no  other  purpose — though  it  was  given  out  that  he 
came  to  stay  with  Tom  Forster,  to  visit  his  property  in  the  north 
of  the  county  (in  right  of  this  the  north  transept  of  Bamborough 
Church  belonging  to  him),  to  talk  politics,  and  whatever  the  people 
pleased — he  came,  I  say,  with  no  other  object  than  to  see  me,  and 
to  remind  me  that  the  six  months  had  come  to  an  end. 

On  the  first  day,  and  on  the  second,  and  on  the  third,  there  was 
no  opportunity  for  private  discourse  between  us,  because  there  was 
no  moment  when  so  honoured  a  guest  was  left  alone  to  follow  his 
own  course  unattended ;  one  gentleman  after  another  being  pre- 
sented to  his  lordship,  and  continual  amusements  (whereof  great 
men  must  become  wearied)  being  provided  for  him.  But  still  he 
followed  me  with  eyes  full  of  love,  and  still  I  trembled,  thinking  of 
what  was  to  come,  and  how  I  should  find  the  courage  to  say  it. 

The  first  day  he  explored,  with  a  great  company,  the  dismantled 
and  ruinous  chambers  of  the  great  castle,  Mr.  Hilyard  going  with 
the  party  in  order  to  discourse  upon  the  history  and  antiquities  of 
the  place,  to  describe  its  sieges,  and  to  enlarge  upon  the  greatness  of 
the  Forsters,  so  that  some  gentlemen  present  of  equally  good  family 
wished  that  they,  too,  had  in  their  own  houses  an  Oxford  scholar 
who  could  keep  their  accounts,  rehearse,  as  if  he  were  a  great 
historian,  the  ancient  glories  of  their  line,  and  in  the  evening  sing, 
and  act,  and  play  the  buffoon  for  them  to  laugh.  Truly  a  valuable 
servant,  a  Phoenix  of  stewards !  Lord  Derwentwater  spoke  in 
great  admiration  of  this  venerable  pile,  compared  with  which,  he 
said,  his  own  ruined  castle  of  Langley  was  small  and  insignificant. 
He  also  made  some  very  pertinent  remarks  about  the  decay  of  great 
families,  and  the  passage  of  estates  into  the  female  line,  and  con- 


i6o  DORO TH  V  FORSTER. 

gratuTated  Mr.  Forster  the  Elder  (of  Etherston)  on  the  happy 
circumstances  which  still  preserved  this  great  monument  for  the 
original  and  parent  stock,  not  knowing  the  truth,  that  the  place 
belonged  to  none  other  than  Lord  Crewe. 

In  the  evening  there  was  a  very  splendid  supper ;  not,  truly,  so 
fine  as  could  be  given  at  Dilston,  but  a  banquet  to  simple  gentlemen, 
and  there  was  great  havoc  among  the  bottles,  though  as  usual  his 
lordship  begged  early  to  be  excused,  on  the  ground  that  though  his 
heart  was  Northumbrian,  his  head  was  still  French,  and  could  not 
endure  the  generous  potations  of  his  friends.  They  would  have 
been  better  pleased  had  he  remained  toasting  and  drinking  with 
them,  until  all  were  laid  on  the  floor  together.  In  this  manner, 
indeed,  many  of  them  proved  the  friendliness  with  which  they 
regarded  his  lordship. 

The  next  day  a  party  was  made  up  to  go  a-shooting  among  the 
wild  birds  of  the  Staples  and  the  Fames,  though  there  is  little  sport 
where  the  birds  are  so  plentiful  and  so  tame  that  it  is  mere  slaughter 
and  butchery.  That  seems  to  me  true  sport  when  a  pheasant  is 
discerned  among  the  bushes,  and  presently  put  up ;  or  a  covey  of 
partridges  rises  among  the  turnips,  or  a  fox  is  made  to  stake  his 
swiftness  and  cunning  against  the  swiftness  of  the  hounds  ;  but  it 
is  a  poor  thing  indeed  to  stand  upon  a  rock  and  shoot  among  a 
flying  crowd  of  birds  who  have  no  fear  of  man. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day,  Lord  Derwentwater  rose  early, 
and  finding  me  already  up  and  dressed,  surprised  me  by  asking  for 
a  dish  of  chocolate.  The  habit  of  drinking  chocolate  in  the  morn- 
ing, although  it  hath  found  great  favour  (surely  it  is  a  most  de- 
lightful and  wholesome  beverage)  among  the  ladies,  is  as  yet  little 
esteemed  by  the  gentlemen  of  the  north.  To  these  last  a  tankard 
of  small-ale  is  considered  better  for  the  composing  of  the  stomach 
and  the  satisfying  of  thirst. 

*  You  shall  have,  my  lord,'  I  said,  *  as  fine  a  dish  of  chocolate  as  if 
you  were  at  St.  Germain's  itself.' 

I  begged  him  to  wait  a  few  minutes  only,  and  ran  quickly  and 
called  Jenny,  my  maid,  to  help  me.  Then,  though  my  heart  was 
beating,  I  made  the  chocolate  wHh  my  own  hands,  strong,  hot,  and 
foaming,  while  Jenny  spread  a  wnite  cloth  and  laid  the  table  in  the 
garden  under  a  walnut-tree.  When  the  chocolate  was  ready  I  found 
a  new  acone  made  of  the  finest  meal,  boiled  two  or  three  eggs,  and 
spread  all  out,  with  cream  and  yellow  butter  from  the  dairy,  and  a 
dish  of  .'ast  year's  honey. 

*  Youi'  breakfast  is  ready,  my  lord,'  I  said,  like  a  waiting-maid. 
'•  But  yoi  must  take  it  in  the  garden,  where  I  have  laid  it  for  you.' 

He  followed  me,  and  protested  that  he  had  neither  expected  nor 
deserved  ^^o  great  an  honour  as  to  be  served  by  Miss  Dorothy. 

*  I  am  pleased,'  I  said,  '  and  honoured  in  doing  so  small  a  service 
for  your  lordship,  if  you  can  eat  eggs  and  honey  and  drink  chocolate, 
instead  of  pressed  beef  and  beer.' 

*  It  is  the  food  of  the  gods,'  he  replied,  '  or,  at  least,  of  Arcadian 
Bhepherds.   Dorothy,  was  there  ever  in  Arcadia  such  a  shepherdess 


MV  DECISION. 


i6i 


One  knows  not  what  might  have  been  said  further  had  not  Mr. 
Hilyard  appeared  abruptly,  taking  the  early  air  in  a  morning-gown 
ragged  and  worn.  He  would  have  retired,  seeing  his  lordship,  but 
I  bade  him  stay. 

'  Here  is  another  of  our  shepherds,'  I  said.  *  But  fie,  Mr.  Hil- 
yard !  Do  shepherds  in  Arcadia  wear  ragged  gowns  when  they  rise 
in  the  morning  to  see  great  noblemen  ?' 

'  Mr.  Hilyard  will  not  allow  anyone  to  forget  him,'  said  his  lord- 
ship kindly.  '  He  discourses  learnedly  by  day  on  history  and  anti- 
quity, and  in  the  evening  he  displays  the  powders  of  the  most 
accomplished  mime.  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  your  exertions  in  both 
capacities.    Especially,  let  me  say,  for  the  former.' 

'  My  lord,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard, '  I  am  like  the  nightingale.  My  pipe 
is  kept  for  the  evening.  By  day  I  am  at  the  commands  of  Miss 
Dorothy.' 

'  Then,  sir,  truly  you  ought  to  be  the  happiest  of  men.' 

*  My  lord,'  replied  Mr.  Hilyard  gravely,  '  I  have  the  kindest  and 
best  of  mistresses,  who  hath  ever  treated  me  with  a  consideration  I 
should  be  the  basest  wretch  not  to  feel  and  acknowledge.  In  this 
house  there  is  not  one  who  doth  not  daily  pray  for  her  happiness, 
and  I,  who  am  the  most  unworthy,  pray  the  most  continually.' 

So  saying,  he  bowed  low  and  left  the  garden,  for  which  I  thanked 
him  in  my  heart,  knowing  why  he  did  so  ;  and  yet  trembled,  because 
I  remembered  my  weakness  at  Dilston,  and  that  I  would  need  to 
keep  careful  watch  over  my  words,  to  discipline  my  inclinations, 
and  to  submit  myself  and  my  will  wholly  to  the  authority  of  the 
Bishop. 

Then  were  -we  left  alone  in  the  garden,  whither  in  the  early 
morning  none  ever  came,  except  sometimes  the  gardener.  The 
place  was  well  fitted  for  our  talk,  being  a  bower  surrounded  on  two 
sides  by  a  hawthorn  hedge,  now  all  in  blossom  and  at  its  sweetest ; 
on  the  third  side  having  an  elderberry- tree,  just  preparing  to  flower, 
and  looking  upon  the  bowling-green.  Often  in  the  warm  evenings 
the  gentlemen  would  take  their  tobacco  after  supper  in  this  retreat. 

'  Will  your  lordship  first  eat  your  breakfast  ?'  I  said,  when  Mr. 
Hilyard  left  us.  '  I  hope  you  will  find  the  chocolate  to  your  liking. 
Let  me  give  you  a  little  more  cream ;  the  eggs  are  new  laid  this 
morning  ;  the  air  sh'ould  sharpen  your  appetite ' — talking  fast,  so 
that  he  might  be  tempted  to  go  on  eating,  and  forget  for  a  moment 
what  was  in  his  mind.    But  he  pushed  the  plate  from  him. 

'  Dorothy,'  he  cried, '  you  think  that  I  can  eat  when  I  have  found 
at  last  an  opportunity  to  speak  with  you  ?  For  what  reason,  think 
you,  did  I  come  here  ?  Was  it  to  shoot  birds  on  the  islands  ?  Was 
it  to  drink  the  Prince's  health  V 

*  Alas !  my  lord,  can  you  not  refrain  for  a  little  while  ?  Oh,  let 
me  be  happy  for  a  short  half-hour  in  serving  you !  Let  me  talk  of 
other  things — of  Dilston.  Is  your  brother,  Mr.  Frank,  well  and 
cheerful  ?  Is  Mr.  Charles  still  in  good  spirits  ?  How  is  the  good 
Mr.  Howard?' 

*  No,  Dorothy,  I  cannot  refrain.   I  must  tell  you — because  I  came 

11 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


here  to  tell  you— that  I  love  you  more  and  more.  I  thmt  upon 
your  image  by  day  and  by  night.  Five  months  of  meditation  have 
made  me  only  more  thy  slave.  My  dear,  give  me  life,  or  bid  me  go 
away  and  die.' 

Now,  Heaven  guard  the  religion  of  a  poor  weak  woman ! 

Then,  while  he  fell  upon  his  knee  and  kissed  my  hand  as  he  had 
done  at  Dilston,  the  same  strange  weakness  fell  upon  me.  like  a 
swoon  or  fainting-fit ;  my  knees  trembled  as  I  stood  ;  my  heart 
began  to  beat  fast,  my  eyes  swam,  and  I  said  nothing.  Oh !  so 
overwhelming  and  so  strong  is  this  passion  in  man  that  it  carries 
away  a  woman,  too,  like  a  straw  in  a  current.  And  all  this  while 
his  voice  fell  upon  my  ear  like  music. 

*  Oh,  Dorothy,  Dorothy  !  there  is  nowhere  in  this  world  so  divine  a 
face  ;  there  are  no  brown  eyes  like  thine,  my  dear  ;  there  is  no  voice 
so  sweet  as  thine ;  there  are  no  such  soft  brown  curls,  no  cheeks  so 
red  and  white,  no  lips  so  rosy.  Oh,  my  dear !  if  I  was  in  love  with 
thee  at  Christmas,  I  am  ten  times  more  in  love  at  Midsummer.' 

Again  I  felt  the  pang,  but  now  with  tenfold  agony,  of  the 
Bishop's  injunction — ah  !  why  is  virtue  always  so  harsh  ?  Again 
was  I  tempted,  so  that  if  he  had,  in  a  way,  forced  me — if  he  had 
only  taken  me  in  his  arms  and  sworn  never  to  let  me  go  till  I  pro- 
mised to  be  of  his  religion,  I  must  most  certainly  have  yielded. 
He  did  not — sinner  that  I  am,  I  have  never  ceased  to  be  sorry  that 
he  did  not — therefore  religion  triumphed,  and  I  remain  a  Protestant 
to  this  hour.  Yet  at  that  moment  I  would  have  thrown  all  away — 
yes,  all — obedience  to  my  Bishop,  to  my  aunt,  the  faith  in  which  I 
had  been  educated,  all  to  go  away  with  this  man  and  cleave  unto 
him.  Never  again,  never  again  can  I  be  so  tempted  ;  never  again 
could  there  happen  to  me  temptation  like  unto  this.  Kind  Heaven 
will  not  suffer  it  more  than  once  in  a  lifetime. 

'  Oh !  rise,  my  lord,'  I  cried  at  last.  *  At  least  let  us  talk  together 
reasonably.  I  am  not  a  goddess  ;  I  am  a  poor  weak  woman,  ignorant 
and  rustic ;  I  am  not  worthy  of  your  regard.  Leave  me  to  my  own 
people.' 

He  obeyed  and  rose,  but  his  eyes  were  wild  and  his  cheek  flushed. 
He  walked  to  and  fro  for  a  space,  swinging  his  arms,  until  he  grew 
composed.    Then  he  came  back  to  me  and  tried  to  talk  soberly. 

He  spoke,  as  he  always  did,  with  the  greatest  modesty  about  him- 
self. He  was  fully  aware,  he  said,  that  an  education  in  France, 
although  it  had  not  made  him  a  Frenchman,  very  much  separated 
him  from  his  countrymen ;  so  that  on  his  return  he  found  the 
customs  strange  to  him,  and  the  language,  though  he  spoke  English 
from  the  cradle,  difficult. 

'Moreover,'  he  said,  *I  know  that  my  manners  are  not  yours.  I 
have  not  the  frank  cordiality  of  your  brother,  or  the  boisterous 
jollity  of  his  friends  ;  I  cannot  drink  with  them  ;  I  am  not  accus- 
tomed to  their  noisy  fox-hunting,  otter-hunting,  badger-baiting  ;  it 
is  strange  to  me  when  a  gentleman  takes  a  quarterstaff  and  for  half 
an  hour  belabours,  and  is  belaboured  by,  a  rustic  ;  in  my  very  dress 
I  lack  the  simplicity  which  distinguishes  them.'    (Here  I  could  not 


MV  DECISION. 


163 


choose  but  smile,  because  it  was  a  kind  of  nature  in  the  Earl  to 
dress  finely ;  and  if  fine  clothes  are  not  made  for  such  as  Lord 
Derwentwater,  for  whom  should  they  be  made  ?)  '  Again,  I  know 
not  rightly  how  to  treat  my  people.  In  France  they  are  not  con- 
sidered ;  they  make  the  roads,  plough  the  land,  find  the  soldiers, 
pay  the  taxes,  but  they  are  not  regarded.  A  French  noble  is  like  a 
creature  of  another  race,  to  whom  the  lower  race  is  born  subject. 
I  hear  of  the  English  freedom  and  independence  ;  yet  when  I  come 
home  I  am  received  with  ten  times  the  welcome  and  respect  which 
the  French  canaille  use  towards  their  betters.  Here  they  do  not 
hate  the  noblesse  ;  on  the  contrary,  they  love  them.  Why,  in  France 
a  noble  thinks  little  of  kicking,  beating,  and  cuffing  any  man  of  the 
lower  orders,  even  if  he  be  a  scholar  or  a  poet.  Here,  gentle  or 
simple,  if  you  strike  a  man  he  will  return  the  blow,  with  the  law  at 
his  back  and  no  Bastille  to  fear.  So  great  a  thing  is  liberty !  And 
so  hard  it  is  for  a  gentleman  to  know  how  rightly  to  treat  his 
people !  Their  friend  I  would  fain  be ;  their  equal  I  cannot  be ; 
their  oppressor  I  might  be,  yet  would  rather  die.  How  to  deserve 
their  love  and  to  retain  their  respect  ?  Dorothy,  let  it  be  your  task 
to  teach  me !' 

*  Alas !  my  lord,  there  are  many  better  teachers  than  myself.' 

'  Nay.  I  have  been  walking  in  the  village  with  Mr.  Hilyard,  and 
speaking  with  the  people.  Everywhere  it  is  the  same  story — the 
goodness  of  Miss  Dorothy :  how  kind  she  is  to  the  poor ;  of  what 
an  open  hand  and  tender  heart !  There  are  more  poor  on  the  E-ad- 
cliffe  estates  than  at  Bamborough ;  come  to  them  and  be  their 
guardian  angel.' 

I  replied,  but  with  trembling  voice,  that  an  angel  I  could  never 
be  ;  and  as  for  going  to  Dilston,  that  was  impossible,  and  I  must, 
alas  !  still  remain  at  the  Manor  House. 

'  There  is  so  great  a  difference,'  he  went  on,  ^  between  the  people 
of  France  and  of  England.  Here  they  dance  not  on  a  Sunday,  nor 
is  there  any  playing  of  the  pipe  ;  they  do  not  laugh  and  sing  greatly, 
yet  they  are  better  fed  and  better  dressed,  and  are  truly  more  happy  ; 
they  seem  sad  at  first,  but  they  are  not  sad  ;  sometimes  they  seem 
surly,  yet  they  may  be  trusted.  Teach  me,  Dorothy,  better  to 
know  this  brave  folk  of  Northumberland.' 

'  Oh,  my  lord,'  I  replied,  '  you  are  learning  every  day  ;  you  will 
understand  them  soon,  far  better  than  I  could  teach  you.' 

For  a  reason  which  you  will  presently  hear,  he  did  not  learn  to 
understand  them,  and  with  all  his  virtues  never  became  quite  a 
Northumbrian. 

'And  I  am  separated  from  the  rest,  though  there  are  many 
Catholics  in  this  countr}'',  by  our  religion.  This  one  does  not 
understand  in  a  Catholic  country,  where  the  hatred  of  the  faith 
by  Protestants  is  not  comprehended.  Men  such  as  myself,  who 
would  fain  know  the  true  temper  of  the  people,  are  open  to  great 
danger  of  deceit.  Already  I  perceive  that  many  things  currently 
reported  at  St.  Germain's  were  false.  In  the  business  of  his  High- 
ness, we  are  dependent  on  our  messengers,  who  may  have  their  own 

11—2 


DOROTHY.  FORSTER. 


purposes  to  serve,  and  may  see  with  eyes  of  exaggeration.'  He 
stooped  and  sighed.  '  For  all  these  reasons,  Dorothy,  take  pity 
on  me.' 

'  My  lord,  if  pity  be  of  any  use,  from  my  very  heart  would  I 
give  you  that  pity.' 

'  If  you  give  it,  show  it,  Dorothy  ;  give  me,  as  well,  your  hand.' 

I  made  no  answer.  It  was  too  much  for  me  to  bear,  that  he. 
so  noble  and  so  good,  should  sue  thus  humbly  for  so  small  a  thing. 

*  Let  me  see  with  those  sweet  English  eyes,'  he  said.  *  Let  me  be 
taught  by  that  voice,  which  is  all  the  music  I  care  to  hear.' 

'  Oh,  my  lord,  it  cannot  be  !  Nay,  do  not  force  a  poor  girl  against 
her  conscience.  First,  I  am  a  simple  gentlewoman,  and  know  not 
the  manners  of  the  Court.  What  would  her  ladyship,  your  mother, 
say  of  such  a  match  ?' 

*  It  needs  not,'  he  answered,  '  to  consider  my  mother's  objections, 
if  she  have  any.  She  is  now  with  her  third  husband,  and  has  no 
longer  any  right  to  be  consulted.    That  is  not  your  reason,  Dorothy.' 

Like  all  women,  I  played  round  the  point,  as  if  I  would  escape  it. 

*  Next,  my  lord,  you  want  one  who  in  manner  and  appearance 
would  adorn  the  high  place  to  which  you  raise  your  Countess.' 

Here,  indeed,  he  vehemently  protested  that  there  never  had  been, 
and  never  would  be,  one  more  beautiful,  more  gracious,  more 
worthy  of  the  highest  rank  than  the  fair  Dorothy. 

*  And  yet,'  he  said,  '  these  are  not  your  reasons.  Whj^,  for  your 
sake  would  I  give  up  rank  and  dignities,  with  all  my  possessions — 
happy  with  you  if  I  had  to  go  to  the  plantations  of  Yirginia,  or  the 
savage  wilds  of  New  England.' 

'  No,  my  lord  ;  those  are  not  my  reasons.  Alas  !  I  have  but  one 
reason.  Father  Howard  instructed  me  six  months  ago  what  that 
reason  would  be.' 

'  Dorothy,  have  you  not  listened  to  his  arguments  ?' 

'Indeed,  my  lord,  I  have  read  them  all,  and  with  a  heart  willing 
to  be  convinced.  Heaven  knows  !  Why,  what  should  I  have  to 
reply  when  a  scholar  tells  me  this  and  that  ?  How  can  a  poor 
woman  do  more  than  obey  authority  and  trust  in  the  Lord  ?  Yet 
just  as  your  own  honour  keeps  you  to  the  faith  in  which  you  were 
trained,  so  does  mine  forbid  me  to  leave  my  own  save  by  permission 
and  authority  of  those  who  are  my  natural  pastors  and  masters. 
For  if  I  did,  I  believe  I  should  have  no  more,  as  long  as  I  live,  any 
rest  or  comfort  in  my  conscience.' 

He  made  no  reply  at  first  to  this. 

*It  is  your  honour,  my  lord,  as  you  have  yourself  told  me. 
Would  it  be  to  my  honour,  if  I,  being  too  ignorant  to  decide  on 
these  grave  questions,  were  to  abandon  the  faith  of  my  people,  pre- 
sumptuously give  them  the  lie,  and  assure  so  great  a  scholar  as  the 
Lord  Bishop  of  Durham  that  he  is  wrong  ?  Can  I  do  this  thing, 
my  lord,  even  for  your  sake  ?' 

'  Is  this,  then,'  he  asked  sadly,  '  the  only  thing  which  stands 
between  us  ?  Good  God  I  that  we  should  part  because  priests 
cannot  agree  1' 


MV  DECISION. 


I65 


*  Yes,'  I  said  ;  *  there  is  nothing  else,  believe  me.  Can  your  lor  J- 
ship  think  that  I  am  insensible  to  the  offer  of  so  much  nobleness — 
so  far  greater  than  any  merit  of  mine  ?  But  yet  it  is  an  obstacle 
which  cannot  be  overcome.' 

*  Nay  ;  but  for  my  sake,  Dorothj^,  listen  to  Mr.  Howard.  He  will 
place  before  you,  so  plainly  that  there  shall  be  no  manner  of  doubt 
possible,  reasons  which  shall  compel  you,  without  thinking  of  me 
at  all,  to  come  into  the  true  Church.  I  would  have  no  pretended 
convert.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  listen  to  any  arguments  of  mine  ;  for, 
indeed,  I  am  not  a  Doctor  of  Divinity — I  know  not  how  to  defend 
the  Church.  There  are  others  who  pray  daily  at  the  altar  for  thy 
conversion.  When  I  came  from  Dilston,  my  aunt,  whose  heart  you 
have  won — I  mean  the  Lady  Mary — whispered  to  me,  "  Bring  her 
back  with  you  ;  Mr.  Howard  is  ready  to  resolve  her  doubts,  and  I 
will  pray  for  her." 

I  shook  my  head.  There  was  more  than  a  Mass  between  us.  If 
it  had  been  only  a  Mass,  Mr.  Howard  might  easily  have  removed  all 
scruples  with  ease,  because  Love  would  have  gone  before  to  clear 
the  way.  There  was,  besides,  the  tall  and  venerable  form  of  the 
Lord  Bishop.  He  seemed  at  this  moment  to  stand  before  me, 
upright  as  a  dart,  warning  me  with  a  frown,  which  made  me  tremble, 
not  to  sell  my  conscience  for  a  wedding-ring. 

*  Shall  we  say,'  Lord  Derwentwater  went  on,  '  that  your  learning 
and  reason  are  more  than  a  match  for  Mr.  Howard  and  all  the 
Church  ?  If  it  be  so,  then  come  and  convert  him  and  all  of  us. 
Only  come  and  listen  to  him.' 

'  Oh,  I  must  not !'  I  replied.  '  My  lord,  I  have  my  own  people 
to  consider,  as  well  as  my  own  conscience.  I  doubt  not — I  am  a 
very  weak  woman  —  that  the  reasons  of  Mr.  Howard,  and  the 
prayers  of  Lady  Mary,  and  my  own  inclination,  would  speedily 
effect  the  conversion  which  you  desire.  Yet  I  am  strictly  ad- 
monished by  the  Bishop,  Lord  Crewe,  that  I  already  belong  to  a 
Church  with  authority,  and  that  it  is  the  Church  of  my  father  and 
mother.' 

'  Dorothy,  it  is  for  love  !  By  Heaven,  if  you  love  me  as  I  love 
you,  no  priest,  be  he  bishop  or  not,  shall  stand  between  us  !  Keep 
your  own  religion  then,  my  dear  ;  worship  how  you  please.  It 
must  surely  be  a  true  religion  which  such  an  angel  would  profess. 
Go  to  your  own  Church— have  your  own  priest  ;  I  will  never  inter- 
fere.   Only  suffer  me  to  have  mine.' 

Then,  indeed,  was  I  for  a  moment  overwhelmed,  and  felt  as  if, 
after  all  my  doubts,  heaven  itself  were  opening  to  me.  Each  to 
keep  his  own  religion  !  Why,  what  could  be  a  happier  settlement  ? 
And  love  to  remain  !    Ah,  happy  ending  ! 

Yet  I  know  now  full  well  that,  had  I  yielded,  there  would  have 
been  worse  trouble  before  me,  and  the  misery  of  being  torn  from 
my  lover's  arms  when  I  thought  myself  folded  securely  there  for 
ever.  No  one,  on  either  side,  would  have  allowed  the  marriage  ; 
either  I  must  be  received  into  the  Catholic  religion,  which  the 
Bishop  and  Lady  Crewe,  to  say  nothing  of  my  father  and  Tom, 


i66 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


would  never  permit,  or  Lord  Derwentwater  must  come  over  to  the 
Protestants — a  thing  which  his  people  would,  with  all  their  powers, 
oppose. 

I  was  saved  by  timely,  nay,  providential,  reason.  I  thought  of 
the  dismal  condition  of  parents  who  agree  not  in  religion,  and  would 
each  fain  bring  up  the  children  in  different  ways,  which  must  be 
intolerable  to  a  mother  ;  and  of  the  dreadful  thing  to  live  with  a 
man  whom  you  fondly  love,  but  concerning  whose  soul  and  ultimate 
fate  you  tremble  continually  ;  and  to  see  your  innocent  children 
torn  from  the  true  Fold,  and  brought  up  in  the  way  of  superstition 
and  error.  All  this  I  thought  upon  quickly,  and  without  time  to 
give  it  words  ;  and  then  I  strengthened  my  courage  (though  heart 
beat  and  lips  were  dry,  and  hands  trembled  and  knees  were  sinking), 
and  begged  my  lord,  humbly,  to  go  away  and  leave  me,  because  I 
could  bear  the  vehemence  of  his  pleadings  no  longer.  But,  I  added, 
I  should  never — no,  not  if  my  days  were  prolonged  far  beyond  the 
earthly  span — never  forget  the  honour  he  had  done  me,  and  would 
pray  for  him  night  and  morning,  that  he  might  obtain  a  wife 
worthy  of  him,  and  children  brave  and  strong,  with  a  long  and 
happy  life,  and  all  the  best  and  most  precious  gifts — yea,  and  more 
— that  the  Lord  hath  ever  vouchsafed  to  man.  Then,  being  an 
honourable  gentleman,  although  so  torn  and  distracted  by  his 
passion,  he  desisted,  doing  and  saying  no  more  than  to  stoop  and 
kiss  me  upon  my  forehead,  with  a — 

^  Farewell,  sweet  Dorothy  !  Now  must  I  go — whither,  and  what 
to  do,  I  know  not,  and  care  no  longer.' 

So  I  was  left  alone,  and,  sitting  down,  could  weep  and  cry  to  my 
heart's  content. 

How  long  I  sat  there  I  know  not ;  but  presently  I  heard  a  step 
in  the  garden,  and  Mr.  Hilyard  returned. 

*  I  met  my  lord,'  he  said.  '  Distraction  was  in  his  look  :  he  hath 
mounted  his  horse  and  ridden  away.  Oh  !  Miss  Dorothy,  my  poor 
mistress,  forgive  me  !  it  is  my  fault — my  doing — all.' 

He  threw  himself  upon  his  knees. 

'  Drive  me  away,'  he  said  ;  '  I  deserve  nothing  less.  For  it  was 
none  but  I  who  wrote  to  Lady  Crewe  and  told  her  of  my  lord's 
passion  and  your  doubt.  Had  it  not  been  for  that  letter,  the 
Bishop  would  have  known  nothing,  and  long  before  he  could 
interfere  you  might  have  been  received  in  Dilston  Chapel.  You 
have  been  my  friend  and  benefactress,  and  this  is  my  gratitude. 
Let  me  call  him  back.  Why,  we  need  not  go  to  Mr.  Howard  ;  I 
know  all  his  arguments.  In  half  an  hour  I  will  convert  you  myself. 
In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  will  convince  you.  I  will  even  ask  to  be 
received  with  you,  so  as  to  remain  in  your  service.  Be  it  on  my 
head  !    It  is  the  least  that  I  can  do.' 

I  bade  him  be  silent,  and  leave  me  alone.  Yet  he  was  so  re- 
pentant, and  so  strangely  moved,  that  I  gave  him  my  hand  in  token 
of  forgiveness,  and  told  him  that  there  was  nothing  to  forgive. 

Sometimes,  since,  I  have  blamed  him  for  meddling.  But,  had  he 
not  informed  Lady  Crewe,  the  thing  must  have  been  told  her  by 


HER  LADYSHIPS  LETTER, 


167 


another,  and,  sooner  or  later,  the  whole  business  must  be  opened 
before  her.  Besides,  he  was  but  doing  his  duty  to  his  mistress. 
Yet  I  have  often  wondered  why,  when  my  lord  had  me,  so  to 
speak,  in  a  melting  mood — when  my  heart  was  torn  to  pieces  with 
pity  and  with  love — he  did  not  carry  me  away  straight  to  the  altar, 
when  I  might  have  been  converted,  received,  baptized,  confessed, 
and  even  man-ied  all  in  an  hour,  and  before  there  was  time  to 
remember  the  Bishop  at  all. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

HER  ladyship's  LETTER. 

Nothing  of  all  this  was  told  by  me  to  Tom  or  to  my  father,  thoagh 
afterwards  they  learned  it  from  Lady  Crewe.  I  saw  my  lord  once 
more  before  he  went  away,  but  not  alone.  Nevertheless  he  whis- 
pered, '  Dorothy  !  you  have  chosen  rightly  ;  all  that  you  do  is  well 
done.  Farewell !'  And  so  he  went  away,  and  I  lost  the  noblest 
lover  that  ever  wooed  a  maid.  Shortly  after  I  received  from  Lady 
Crewe  a  letter,  which  I  copy  out  for  the  consolation  of  other  girls 
who  may  be  parted  from  their  lovers  for  conscience  or  religion's 
sake.  The  letter  was  not  brought  by  the  postboy,  but  one  of  the 
Bishop's  running  footmen,  who  also  carried  with  him  a  great  parcel 
of  fine  things  sent  to  me  by  her  ladyship,  kindly  hoping  thus  to 
cheer  my  spirits  by  the  contemplation  of  black  and  silver  fringe, 
Geneva  velvet,  Brussels  lace,  Italian  silk,  soft  Indian  stuffs,  white 
sarsnet,  blue  and  gold  atlas,  flowered  damask,  and  so  forth.  It  is 
certainly  a  great  solace  to  a  woman  in  all  the  misfortunes  of  life  to 
have  such  things  to  look  at,  and  I  dare  say  many  a  sad  heart  may 
have  been  comforted  by  such  a  present  as  was  thas  made  to  me. 

*My  dear  and  loving  Niece,'  her  ladyship  wrote, — *I  hear 
from  a  sure  hand  that  the  admonition  and  advice  of  the  Bishop  in 
this  grave  affair  between  Lord  Derwentwater  and  yourself  have 
been  duly  considered  by  you,  and  have  borne  fruit  in  your  decision, 
which  I  pity  and  am  sorry  for,  while  I  cannot  but  approve.  It  is 
a  grievous  thing,  indeed,  for  a  woman  to  send  away  any  gallant 
gentleman  who  offers  his  hand  and  his  affections  (yet  have  I  sent 
away  many)  ;  much  more  grievous  is  it  when  that  gentleman  is 
such  an  one  as  my  Lord  of  Derwentwater,  a  man  born,  I  am  per- 
suaded, to  be  loved  by  all,  a  young  gentleman  of  excellent  parts 
and  great  sweetness,  not  to  speak  of  his  exalted  rank  and  his  near- 
ness to  the  throne.  Among  the  many  offers  which  I  received  and 
refused,  there  was  not  one  so  important  as  this.  Indeed,  my  dear, 
the  conquest  of  this  admirable  young  gentleman,  though  it  surprises 
me  not,  since  the  beauty  of  the  women  in  our  family  hath  ever 
been  coupled  with  that  most  excellent  gift,  the  power  of  attraction, 
yet  it  should  greatly  raise  you  in  the  estimation  of  all.  There  is 
not  (believe  me)  a  young  woman  in  all  England  who  would  not 
long  to  have  so  brave  a  lover  at  her  feet,  and  it  will  be  all  your  life 
a  subject  of  gratitude  and  thankfulness  that  this  has  happened  to 


i68 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


you.  But  if  I  admire  your  fortune,  child,  in  this  affair,  I  admire 
your  behaviour  more  in  letting  him  go.  Grievous  it  is,  without 
doubt,  and  my  heart  bleeds  for  your  soitow.  Yet,  my  dear,  on  the 
other  hand,  consider,  I  pray,  how  much  more  grievous  would  it  be 
to  have  taken  him.  For,  just  as  he  can  never  change  the  religion 
in  which  he  was  brought  up,  which  is  that  of  his  father,  of  bis 
mother,  of  his  grandfather  King  Charles,  and  of  his  cousin  the 
Prince  ;  so  you,  for  your  part,  can  never  change  your  own,  which 
is  that  of  all  the  living  Forsters,  whether  of  Etherston  or  of  Bam- 
borough,  and  that  of  your  illustrious  uncle,  the  Bishop  of  this 
diocese.  Picture  to  yourself  a  distracted  household  in  which  the 
father  is  a  Papist  and  the  mother  a  Protestant ;  the  children  in- 
clining now  this  way,  now  that,  as  they  are  swayed  by  their  father's 
or  their  mother's  influence  ;  imagine  the  unfortunate  parents,  fearful 
each  for  the  future  lot  of  the  other,  and  trembling  continually  for 
fear  whether  Heaven  can  be  assured  for  those  who  hold  to  this  or 
to  that  belief.  My  dear,  thou  hast  saved  thyself  from  such  a  fate 
in  the  decision  which  you  have  taken.  Wherefore,  learn  to  look 
upon  the  Earl  as  a  friend  who  cannot  possibly  become  a  husband 
any  more  than  if  he  were  thy  brother,  and  let  thy  heart  be  free  to 
listen  to  the  persuasions  of  other  and  more  fortunate  men.  Mean- 
time, forget  not  to  take  comfort  in  the  thought  that  thou  hast 
obeyed  the  admonition  of  thy  Bishop — a  thing  much  more  pleasing 
to  Almighty  God  than  the  mere  following  of  the  inclinations  and 
temptations  of  the  heart.  This,  in  after  years  and  upon  thy  death- 
bed, will  a:fford  thee  such  satisfaction  and  comfort  as  the  memory 
of  a  short  period  of  passion  could  never  secure.  Wherefore,  my 
dear  niece,  I  leave  thee  to  thy  resignation  as  a  Christian,  to  thy 
obedience  as  a  daughter  of  the  Church  of  England,  to  thy  pride  as 
a  Forster,  to  bring  thee  quickly  to  a  cheerful  and  contented  mind. 
Of  this  matter,  for  the  present,  enough. 

•  My  lord,  I  am  thankful  therefor,  continues  in  such  health  and 
strength  as  is  surprising  in  a  man  of  his  years.  To  him  belongs  the 
blessing  of  long  continuance  in  the  land.  We  hear  good  news  con- 
cerning the  temper  of  the  country,  which  promises  to  assume  a 
settled  resolution  of  loyalty.  I  know  very  well  on  which  side  my 
niece  will  be  found.  Rest  assured,  therefore,  that  thou  hast  in  me 
always  the  same  affection  and  desire  for  thy  welfare. 

'  Thy  loving  Aunt, 

*  Dorothy  Crewe.' 

In  this  way,  therefore,  did  my  love-story  end.  Because  my 
lover  was  so  gallant  and  comely  a  man,  all  other  men  have  since 
appeared  small  compared  with  him.  Nor  have  I  ever  been  able  to 
endure  the  thought  of  a  second  lover  ;  though  many  have  offered 
themselves,  including  that  faithful  pair  who  would  never  take  nay 
for  an  answer.  Peregrine  Widdrington  and  Ned  Swinburne.  Thus 
it  is  that,  though  an  unmarried  womau,  I  have  learned  to  distinguish 
and  to  understand  very  clearly  the  symptoms  of  love,  which  are 
various,  and  differ  with  every  man,  one  becoming  melancholy  and 


HER  LADYSHIP'S  LETTER. 


169 


another  joyful,  one  hanging  his  head  and  another  dancing,  one 
afraid  and  another  confident ;  but  always  the  same  hungry  look  in 
every  eye — the  same  look  as  I  had  seen  in  my  lord's  eyes,  though 
in  him  much  more  noble  and  dignified.  But  never  again,  towards 
any  other  man,  did  I  feel  the  same  glow  in  my  own  heart,  the  same 
yearning — almost  too  strong  to  be  endured — to  see  that  look  again. 
Therefore,  I  think  that,  though  a  woman  may  perhaps  make  a  good 
wife  even  to  a  man  who  has  never  touched  her  heart,  we  are  all  so 
constituted  by  nature  that  we  can  love  but  one  man.  This  is  that 
high  and  sacred  mystery  of  wedded  life,  ordained  by  Heaven  for 
the  mutual  support  and  comfort  of  man  and  woman,  I  have  missed 
that  chief  blessing,  it  is  true  ;  but  I  have  not  missed  the  gift  of  a 
man's  love. 

It  would  be  foolish  to  relate  how  dull  were  the  days  and  how 
tedious  the  duties  of  the  house  after  my  lord  left  me.  A  girl 
crossed  in  love  is  ever  a  sorrowful  creature  ;  all  such  do  I  pity  from 
my  heart,  remembering  the  pain  and  anguish  which  at  that  time  I 
endured.  In  such  a  juncture  and  at  the  outset  there  is  no  comfort 
in  anything — not  even  in  lace  and  silks  ;  nor  any  joy  in  the  day, 
nor  any  rest  at  night.  For  the  morning  brings  the  thought  that 
there  will  be  no  happiness  in  the  day,  and  the  sun  uprising  only 
renews  the  pain  of  yesterday ;  in  the  night,  the  face  of  him  who  is 
lost  comes  back  in  dreams,  and  hangs  about  the  pillow  like  the  face 
of  a  ghost.  I  saw  that  ghost  by  night  and  had  those  memories  by 
day.  "When  Mr.  Hilyard  read  to  me,  I  heard  not ;  when  he  played 
sad  music  to  me,  I  sat  in  my  chair  and  listened  not ;  when  he  talked 
to  me,  I  heeded  not.  Yet  he  never  wearied  in  reading,  talking,  and 
playing  to  me,  and  was  a  most  patient,  thoughtful  creature.  At 
such  time  the  things  which  happen  pass  before  our  eyes  as  in  a 
dream,  and  we  see  them  not,  and  think  nothing  strange.  Why,  I 
remember  now  that  Jenny  Lee  came  to  me  one  day,  and  after  say- 
ing that  she  could  not  bear  to  see  her  mistress  thus  go  still  in  sorrow, 
telling  me  she  knew  how  to  get  from  her  grandmother  a  love-potion, 
which,  if  I  pleased,  she  would  send  by  a  sure  and  secret  hand  to 
Dilston  Hall,  to  bring  back  my  lord,  so  that,  nilly- willy,  he  should 
not  choose  but  come.  Instead  of  rebuking  the  girl,  and  soundly 
boxing  her  ears,  I  only  shook  my  head  and  said  nothing.  Yet  this 
is  passing  strange — that  a  servant-maid  should  offer  to  practise 
sorcery,  and  her  mistress  should  not  reprove  her. 

Let  all  this  pass  :  time  brings  patience  and  understanding.  What 
had  been  done  was  for  conscience  and  fair  Religion's  sake.  After- 
wards, but  not  for  a  year  or  two.  Lady  Crewe  told  my  brother  Tom 
what  had  happened,  and  it  was  counted  as  an  honour  to  us  all  that 
my  lord  had  proposed  and  I  had  refused. 

At  this  time  my  father,  being  now  somewhat  advanced  in  years — 
namely,  between  fifty  and  sixty — was  aweary  of  the  long  journey  to 
London  and  back,  and  therefore  resolved  to  retire  from  the  House 
of  Commons.  I  know  not  what  passed  between  Lady  Crewe  and 
Tom  on  the  subject  of  living  in  London,  but  I  suppose  that  she 
agreed  to  bear  his  charges,  so  that  he  should  make  an  appearance  in 


170 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


the  great  town  worthy  of  his  position  in  the  county  and  his  place  as 
a  Knight  of  the  Shire.  Certain  it  is  that  he  was  elected,  being  the 
seventh  Forster  in  unbroken  line  who  thus  represented  his  county 
in  Parliament. 

When  Tom  was  away,  which  was  now  for  a  great  while  in  the 
year,  I  led  for  the  most  part  a  retired  life  at  the  Manor  House,  Mr. 
Hilyard  managing  all  her  affairs  for  Lady  Crewe,  though  I  confess 
that  so  great  a  scholar  would  have  been  better  occupied  in  a  library. 
We  continued  to  read  together,  and  in  the  winter  evenings  we  had 
music,  chiefly  of  a  grave  and  serious  kind,  which  elevates  the  soul 
and  leads  it  heavenward.  It  seemed  as  if  he  was  contented,  when 
there  was  no  feasting  or  fooling,  to  lead  this  quiet  life.  Often,  also, 
my  father  would  sit  with  us,  especially  in  the  summer  evenings,  and 
take  a  pipe  of  Virginia  with  a  mug  of  ale.  But  as  for  play-acting, 
singing  choruses,  and  the  like,  there  was  none  of  it.  Nor  was  there 
much  whisper  of  what  was  doing  in  the  world,  save  for  a  news-letter 
which  sometimes  reached  us.  Nothing  more  astonished  me  when  I 
went  to  London  than  the  multiplication  of  news  and  the  swiftness 
with  which  the  latest  intelligence  is  received  and  scattered  abroad. 
Again,  Mr.  Hilyard  had  often  told  me  that  we  lived  in  an  age 
remarkable,  even  like  that  of  Augustus,  for  wit,  poetry,  genius,  and 
learning.  Yet  of  all  these  wits — of  Addison  and  Steele  and  the 
rest — I  should  have  known  nothing,  except  at  second  hand,  had  not 
Mr.  Hilyard,  by  great  good  fortune,  lighted  on  a  complete  set  of  the 
papers  called  the  Spectator  and  the  Tatler.  It  was  in  the  year  1713, 
and  at  Alnwick,  whither  few  books  find  their  way.  Certainly,  I 
may  truly  say  that  I  have  never  received  greater  pleasure  than  from 
the  reading  of  these  delightful  works.  Too  often  the  wits  of  the 
age  lend  their  powers  to  bringing  virtue  in  contempt,  so  that  a 
gentlewoman  cannot  so  much  as  look  upon  their  poems  ;  and  if  she 
ventures  to  the  theatre,  must,  for  shame'  sake,  put  on  a  mask. 
There  is  comfort  in  the  thought  that  such  writers  receive  their 
reward  in  the  oblivion  into  which  they  speedily  fall.  Neglect,  says 
Mr.  Hilyard,  is  the  certain  fate  of  those  who  impiously  seek  to 
make  virtue  ridiculous. 

Each  year,  when  Tom  came  home,  the  house  was  filled  again. 
Once  more  the  cellar  was  opened  ;  there  was  feasting,  and,  in  the 
evening,  singing  and  drinking,  with  Mr.  Hilyard  to  keep  the  com- 
pany merry.  Pleasant  it  was  to  see  Tom,  happy,  as  of  old,  with 
every  kind  of  sport,  never  tired  of  the  things  which  always  amused 
him,  calling  for  the  old  songs  and  the  old  stories.  But  there 
appeared  latterly  many  strange  faces,  at  sight  of  whom  Mr.  Hilyard 
looked  glum.  They  were  nonjurors,  malcontents,  and  restless  men, 
who  were  not  satisfied,  as  most  of  us  in  the  north,  to  wait,  but  must 
needs  be  for  ever  pushing  and  plotting. 

As  for  Tom's  way  of  living  in  London,  it  was  this — apart  from 
his  Parliament  duties.  After  a  mug  or  two  of  small-beer  in  the 
morning,  he  commonly  took  his  dinner  at  Lovett's,  by  Charing 
Cross,  a  place  much  frequented  by  Members  of  Parliament  and 
country  gentlemen.    Dinner  despatched,  he  would  presently  walk 


HER  LADYSHIPS  LETTER, 


171 


to  White's  Coffee  House,  in  St.  James's  Street,  where  no  Whig  dare 
so  much  as  show  his  face.  Here  would  he  take  a  dith  of  coffee  or 
chocolate,  with  a  pipe  of  tobacco,  and,  perhaps,  if  the  weather  were 
raw,  a  dram  of  ratafia  or  Nantz.  In  the  evening  he  went  to  the 
October  Club.  He  was  never  seen  in  the  Park,  or  the  theatre,  or 
any  of  the  places  where  ladies  resort ;  and  while,  on  the  one  hand, 
he  escaped  the  destruction  which  the  ladies  of  London  sometimes 
bring  upon  country  gentlemen,  on  the  other,  there  was  no  question 
as  to  marrying  an  heiress.  An  easy  man,  everybody's  friend,  and  to 
all  the  world  Tom  Forster. 

When  I  asked  Mr.  Hilyard  where  the  October  Club  met,  he  said 
he  did  not  know,  but  certainly  as  far  as  possible  from  Will's.  I 
know  that  Will's  is  the  resort  of  wits  and  poets,  and  it  was  easy  to 
understand  that  Mr.  Hilyard  meant  to  imply  that  Tom's  friends 
were  not  remarkable  for  learning  and  ingenuity.  I  dare  say  this 
may  be  so,  if  only  for  the  reason  that  most  of  the  Tories  are  gentle- 
men by  birth  ;  now  there  is  no  reason  at  all  why  one  already  illus- 
trious by  his  descent  should  seek  glory  in  the  contest  of  wit,  in 
which  he  may  be  outdone  by  some  smart  Templar,  or  even  the  son 
of  a  London  vintner,  like  Mr.  Hilyard.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
are  many  great  wits  and  scholars  on  our  side,  and  I  hope  that  Bishop 
Atterbury,  or  Lord  Bolingbroke,  may  he  acknowledged  at  least  the 
equal  of  Addison  or  Steele.  But,  perhaps,  after  all,  Mr.  Hilyard 
only  desired  to  say  a  smart  thing.  There  is  practised  among  scholars 
the  art  of  describing  men  and  things  in  sharp  sentences,  mostly  ill- 
natured.  They  call  this  art  wit  or  satire,  but  it  is,  to  my  thinking, 
mostly  ill-nature  or  spitef ulness. 

*  If  I  were  in  London,  which  I  fear ' — here  Mr.  Hilyard  sighed 
heavily — '  I  shall  never  see  again,  I  would  go  to  the  coffee-houses  of 
both  sides,  and  then  ' 

'  What  then  ?' 

*  I  should  learn  all  that  can  be  said  against  either  side.  Believe 
me.  Miss  Dorothy,  there  would  be  no  greater  safeguard  for  your 
Tory  gentleman  than  to  hear  the  Whig  argument.' 

^Nay,'  I  said,  'a  Forster  must  be  loyal.' 

'  Let  him  be  as  loyal  as  you  will.  But  if  there  is  to  be  fighting 
let  others  begin.  Her  ladyship  is  much  concerned  at  the  continual 
presence  of  these  nonjurors.' 

In  the  early  spring  of  the  year  1712,  my  maid  Jenny  Lee  ran 
away  from  me.  I  am  not  able  to  charge  myself  with  the  least 
harshness  towards  the  girl,  whom  I  treated  with  kindness  from  the 
beginning,  although  I  could  not  forget  the  strange  things  I  had 
myself  seen,  or  else  thought  I  had  seen,  when  at  Dilston  Hall.  But 
she  was  quiet  and  well  behaved,  and  gave  me  no  trouble  at  all 
except  on  that  account ;  and  always  dutiful,  affectionate,  and 
respectful,  clever  with  her  fingers,  and  knowing  how  to  restrain  her 
tongue.  I  had  already  designed  her  in  my  own  mind  to  marry, 
when  my  brother  should  have  no  more  need  of  his  services,  his  own 
man,  Thomas  Lee  (not  of  the  gipsy  Lees),  a  handy  and  honest 
fellow,  not  more  given  to  drink  than  most,  and  never  drunk  until 


172 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


his  master  was  first  seen  safe  to  bed.  But  the  end  was  otherwise, 
for  one  day,  hearing  that  the  strolling  players  were  at  Wooler,  only 
ten  miles  away,  she  could  not  be  restrained,  but  packed  up  all  she 
had — in  truth,  a  sorry  bundle — threw  it  over  her  shoulder,  and 
marched  off,  leaving  a  saucy  message  to  Mr.  Hilyard,  that  he  only 
was  to  blame,  because  he  it  was  who  first  showed  her  how  to  act ; 
and  a  crying  message  to  me  that  indeed  I  had  been  a  kind  mistress 
to  her,  and  that  she  begged  my  forgiveness,  but  she  must  needs 
become  a  player,  and  no  other  way  of  life  was  tolerable  to  her. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  same  year,  that  is,  in  the  year  1712,  we 
heard  of  Lord  Derwentwater's  marriage.  He  was  married  on  July 
the  10th,  to  Anna,  daughter  of  Sir  John  Webb,  Baronet,  of  Can- 
ford,  in  Dorsetshire.  His  wife's  family  were  Catholics,  so  that, 
happily,  there  was  no  question  of  religion  between  them.  She  had 
been  educated  in  a  convent  at  Paris,  and  I  believe  that  my  lord 
made  her  acquaintance  before  he  returned  to  England.  By  her 
mother's  side  she  was  also  of  good  blood,  being  granddaughter  of 
Lord  Worlaby,  and  great-granddaughter  to  the  Marquis  of  Win- 
chester. He  wrote  two  or  three  days  after  his  marriage  to  his 
cousin.  Lady  Swinburne,  of  Capheaton,  from  a  place  called  Hall  en- 
hope,  in  Gloucestershire,  where  he  lived  for  two  years  with  his  wife, 
and  where  his  son  was  born.  His  letter,  which  Lady  Swinburne 
showed  me,  was  full  of  joy,  for  which  I  thanked  Cod,  praying  that 
his  earthly  happiness  might  be  continued  to  him  for  a  long  life. 
We  also  learned  that  my  lord  had  further  agreed  to  spend  two  years 
in  the  south  of  England,  among  his  wife's  relations.  I  know  not 
for  what  reason  this  article  was  asked  for,  or  insisted  upon,  but  I 
think  with  the  design  of  protecting  the  young  Earl  from  the  designs 
and  conspiracies  of  the  more  violent  among  his  party.  If  that  were 
the  case,  then  I  would  to  Heaven  that  they  had  made  the  agreement 
for  three  years  and  a  half,  at  least,  when  all  the  trouble  might  have 
been  averted.  I  am  very  certain  that  there  would  have  been  no 
disturbance  in  Northumberland,  whatever  they  might  do  in  Scot- 
land, but  for  the  certainty  that  the  great  families  in  the  county,  and 
especially  the  Radcliffes,  would  be  drawn  in. 

I  have  never  charged  my  lord,  either  secretly  or  openly,  with 
inconstancy,  yet  I  confess  that,  at  the  first  moment,  when  I  heard 
of  his  marriage,  I  felt  a  pang,  which  I  believe  was  natural,  though 
it  hath  since  been  repented.  Such  a  charge  would  be  most  unreason- 
able, on  every  ground — that  of  his  rank,  because  a  man  in  his  exalted 
rank  must  marry  for  the  sake  of  heirs  ;  and  because,  if  one  woman 
says  nay,  there  are  plenty  as  good  as  she  in  the  world — ay,  and  a 
good  deal  better.  Then,  again,  a  man  may  love  many  women  in 
his  life,  I  suppose,  though  that  we  cannot  understand.  Lastly,  his 
choice  was  wise,  and  his  wife  beautiful,  virtuous,  and  in  every  way 
worthy  of  her  rank,  and  of  her  husband. 

I  have  told  all  that  concerns  the  early  life  of  my  brother  until 
the  time  when  he  became  Knight  of  the  Shire.  You  have  seen  how 
he  was  trained,  and  how  fitted  for  the  part  he  was  fated  to  play  ; 
that  is,  he  was  fonder  of  the  country  than  of  town ;  he  never 


HER  LADYSHIPS  LETTER, 


173 


unlearned  his  country  speech  and  manner ;  he  was  loved  by  all ;  he 
was  of  easy  temper ;  he  was  but  little  conversant  with  books  or 
men  ;  he  was  readily  persuaded  ;  he  was  honourable  and  loyal,  true 
to  his  word,  and  to  his  friends. 

In  the  sequel,  it  may  seem  to  some  that  I  presume  to  treat  of 
matters  beyond  a  woman's  reach.  Though  I  may  be  excused  if  I 
touch  sometimes  on  these  things,  I  would  not,  certainly,  seem 
desirous  of  writing  history.  The  Rising  in  the  North  will,  I  hope, 
be  fitly  treated  by  Mr.  Hilyard,  who  promises  to  make  such  a  book 
concerning  it  as  Sallust  made  concerning  the  Conspiracy  of  Catiline 
(though  not  comparing  its  leaders  with  that  bloodthirsty  parricide). 
In  this  way  he  will  do  justice  to  the  actors,  and  confer  immortality 
upon  himself.  Sad  it  would  be  if  so  much  learning  were  to  be 
rewarded  by  no  other  monument  than  a  tomb  in  Durham  Cathedral. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

MR.  HILYARD'S  dream. 

It  was  late  in  the  summer  of  1714  that  Lord  Derwent water  brought 
the  Countess  home.  Such  was  his  eagerness  to  return,  and  hers  to 
make  acquaintance  with  her  husband's  cousins,  that  is  to  say,  with 
all  the  gentry  of  the  county,  that  he  started  for  the  north  on  the 
very  day  that  his  two  years  expired,  namely,  on  the  10th  of  July ; 
and,  though  he  travelled  with  a  great  company  of  servants,  baggage, 
and  pack-horses,  and  stopped  on  the  way  to  see  York  races,  he 
arrived  at  Dilston  Hall  in  the  first  week  of  August,  to  the  joy  and 
content  of  his  friends  and  tenants. 

As  for  his  brothers,  Frank  and  Charles,  they  were  both  in  London, 
but  not,  I  understood,  living  together,  and  Charles  spending  at  a 
great  rate,  that  is  to  say,  above  his  income ;  his  uncle.  Colonel 
Thomas  RadclifEe,  was  at  Douay,  where  I  hope  the  poor  man  forgot 
his  imaginary  pursuer  ;  the  Lady  Mary  was  gone  to  Durham,  where 
she  had  a  house ;  and  Lady  Katharine  to  live  in  a  convent  at  St. 
Germain's — honoured  no  more  by  the  Court  of  the  Prince,  who  was 
at  Bar-le-Duc.  Some  of  the  Swinburnes  were  there  to  meet  the 
Countess,  and  Mr.  Errington,  of  Beaufront.  Mr.  Hilyard  also,  who 
was  at  Blanchland  on  Lady  Crewe's  business,  went  to  Dilston  to 
pay  his  respects.  Tom  was  still  in  London,  and  I  was  at  Bam- 
borough,  thirty  miles  away. 

When,  however,  Mr.  Hilyard  returned,  he  informed  me  of  every 
particular,  even  of  her  ladyship's  dress,  of  which,  for  a  man,  he  was 
observant,  and  made  me  understand  that  the  Countess  had  taste,  and 
dressed  in  the  mode. 

*  As  for  my  lord,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  he  looks  certainly  older,  and 
is  fuller  in  the  cheeks  than  three  years  ago  ;  but  his  carriage  is  the 
same.  Sure  there  is  no  other  nobleman  in  the  world  like  unto  him. 
He  was  so  good  as  to  inquire  of  my  welfare,  after  asking  after  your 
own  health  and  his  honour's.' 

'And  the  Countess?'  I  asked. 

*  She  is  little  of  stature,  but  vivacious  in  speech  ;  her  age  is 


174 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


twenty  ;  her  eyes  are  dark  and  bright,  and  she  laughs  readily.  She 
has  the  manners  of  the  town,  and  will  prove,  I  doubt  not,  remark- 
able for  her  ready  sallies ;  and  for  a  lively  temper  rather  than  for 
the  dignity  which  is  so  conspicuous  in  some  great  ladies — in  Lady 
Crewe,  for  example.  Her  own  people  all  declare  that  she  is  kind- 
hearted  and  generous,  though  quick  of  speech.* 

*  Did  my  lord  seem  happy  ?'  I  asked. 

'•  There  was  no  outward  sign  of  anything  but  of  happiness,'  he 
told  me.  '  They  are  reported  to  be  lovers  still,  though  they  have 
been  married  two  years  and  more.  All  testify  that  never  was  a 
couple  more  truly  fitted  for  each  other,  and  yet  ' 

He  stopped  short,  but  I  knew  very  well  what  was  in  his  mind. 

*  And  yet,  three  years  ago,'  I  said,  '  he  was  content  to  look  for 
happiness  with  another  woman.  Young  men  sometimes  mistake 
their  hearts.  Let  us  be  thankful  that,  this  time,  my  lord  hath  made 
no  mistake.  *  Those  who  remain  lovers  after  two  years  are  certainly 
married  as  Heaven  intended,  and  will  continue  lovers  to  the  end.' 

And  yet,  for  my  own  part,  I  had  never  forgotten  his  image,  which 
was  graven  on  my  heart.  But  he  had  forgotten ;  he  could  show 
every  outward  sign  of  happiness.  This,  I  say,  being  a  feeble  woman, 
I  could  not  choose  but  feel.  Afterwards  I  learned  that  a  man  may 
be  happy,  and  yet  not  forget  tender  passages  of  old.  We  women 
are  for  ever  saying,  *  A  man  does  this,  and  a  man  does  that,'  making 
comparisons  of  ourselves  with  the  other  sex,  only  to  find  out  our 
own  weakness  and  their  strength.  '  A  wise  man,'  quoth  King 
Solomon,  '  is  strong.'  He  doth  not  say  that  a  strong  man  is  wise. 
Yet  methinks  a  man,  because  he  is  strong,  may  attain  unto  and 
reach  that  Wisdom,  which  is  to  the  soul  (also  in  the  words  of 
Solomon)  like  honey  and  the  honeycomb,  more  easily  than  a  woman. 

*  I  hear  also,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  that  the  Countess  is  red-hot  for 
the  Prince  ;  and  am  sorry  to  hear  it.' 

'  Why,'  I  replied,  '  surely  you  would  not  have  her  on  the  other 
side?' 

*  Nay  ;  I  would  have  her  on  the  side  of  safety.  Loyalty,  faith, 
and  kinship  call  the  Earl  into  a  certain  path  which  is  beset  with 
danger.    Let  Prudence  walk  beside  him,  if  only  to  hold  him  back.' 

Of  late  Mr.  Hilyard  often  spoke  thus,  showing,  though  I  knew  it 
not,  a  spirit  prophetic.  Thus  can  learning  make  men  foretell  the 
storm,  and  see  clouds  to  come  even  in  a  sky  without  a  cloud.  In 
affairs  of  State  Avho  would  have  looked  for  foresight  from  a  simple 
Oxford  scholar  of  lowly  birth  ?  Yet  the  storm  was  at  hand.  The 
first  sign  of  it  came  the  very  next  day,  namely,  the  7th  of  August, 
in  the  year  of  grace  1714 ;  Mr.  Hilyard  being  in  the  forenoon  on 
the  high-road  from  which  Bamborough  lieth  distant  a  mile  and  a 
half,  or  thereabouts,  presently  saw,  making  what  speed  he  could 
along  the  way  (which  here  is  rough  and  full  of  furrows,  so  that  to 
gallop  is  not  easy),  a  messenger  on  horseback,  who  blew  a  horn  as 
he  went,  and  cried  out  with  a  loud  voice  unto  any  he  met  or  passed, 
or  saw  working  in  the  fields  or  in  the  cottage  gardens,  or  at  open 
door,  or  in  farmyards  by  the  wayside,  saying : 


MR.  HILY ARB'S  DREAM. 


*  The  Queen  is  dead,  good  people.    Queen  Anne  is  dead  !' 
With  this  news  in  his  mouth  Mr.  Hilyard  hastened  to  tell  me. 

*  Queen  Anne  is  dead  !'  he  said,  for  the  fiftieth  time.  '  What  will 
they  do  ?  Nay,  what  have  they  already  done  ?  It  is  a  week  and 
more  that  the  Queen  is  dead.  Have  they  proclaimed  the  Prince  ? 
Is  he  already  sent  for  ?  Did  the  Queen  acknowledge  him  for  her 
successor  ?  Oh  that  we  could  hear  more !  If  we  knew  what  they 
have  already  done  !  Why,  anything  may  happen  now — a  peaceful 
succession,  a  civil  war,  a  rebellion — what  do  we  know  ?  And  here 
sit  I  with  folded  arms,  and  can  do  nothing.' 

'  You  could  do  nothing,'  I  said,  '  if  you  were  in  London,  except 
shout  in  the  streets  and  get  knocked  on  the  head.' 

It  is  a  strange  delusion  of  every  man  that  the  course  of  events 
lieth  in  his  own  hand,  and  that  if  he  alone  were  in  the  right  place 
to  order  and  direct,  all  would  go  well. 

*  Nay,'  he  replied,  '  to  shout  in  the  street  would  be  something. 
Besides,  where  pamphlets  and  verses  and  lampoons  are  flying,  there 
could  I  be  of  use.    At  such  times,  a  poet  makes  others  shout.' 

Then  we  began  again  to  guess  and  to  wonder  what  was  going  to 
happen.  If  the  Prince  had  been  acknowledged  by  his  sister  for  her 
successor,  he  would  probably  have  been  proclaimed  on  the  day  of  her 
death.  How  did  London  take  it  ?  If  that  were  so,  it  would  fare  ill  with 
the  great  Whig  lords,  like  the  Duke  of  Argyll  and  others,  supporters 
of  King  William,  Queen  Anne,  and  the  Protestant  Succession.  But 
as  for  families  like  ourselves,  who  had  remained  staunch  supporters 
of  the  rightful  heir,  there  would  be  a  time  of  fatness. 

'  His  honour,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  cannot  expect  anything  short  of 
an  earldom.    That  is  the  least  that  can  be  given  to  him.' 

*  But/  I  asked,  '  how  if  the  Prince  surrounds  himself  with  priests  ?' 

*  Why,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  ^  that  would  not  be  endured  by  the  City, 

and  a  remedy  must  be  found.    Else  '  he  looked  so  resolute  that 

I  trembled  for  his  Highness. 

*  And  what  will  the  Nonconformists  say  ?' 

'  As  for  them,'  he  replied,  *  they  must  sit  down  and  be  content. 
Loyal  they  will  never  be.  If  they  are  not  content,  let  them  follow 
their  grandfathers  to  America.' 

And  so  on.  We  made  no  manner  of  doubt,  after  much  talking, 
that  the  Prince  was  already  proclaimed,  and  Tom  ruffling  with  the 
best  on  the  victorious  side. 

'  Heavens  !'  cried  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  what  a  sight  must  it  be  !  The 
theatres  resounding  with  loyal  songs ;  the  houses  illuminated ;  all 
the  brave  soldiers  drunk ;  every  sour  and  surly  Whig  made  to  put 
a  candle  in  his  windows  or  have  them  broken  ;  fighting  at  every 
corner  ;  bonfires  in  every  street ;  oxen  roasted  whole  ;  conduits 
running  with  wine  ;  the  City  Companies  holding  high  banquet ;  the 
universal  feasting,  singing,  and  drinking  !  Not  a  glum  face  outside 
the  conventicle.  Heigho !  What  would  I  not  give  to  be  there 
among  them  all !' 

He  then  went  on  to  construct  the  future  history  of  Great  Britain 
and  Ireland,  in  which  he  allowed  the  Prince  to  remain  a  Catholic, 


176 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


but  exacted  of  him  a  pledge  that  his  children  should  be  brought  up 

in  the  bosom  of  the  English  Church ;  he  would  also  be  suffered  to 
have  about  him  such  priests  as  were  necessary  for  himself  alone, 
Catholics  being  excluded  from  any  share  in  Government,  and  the 
Ministry  being  Protestants  ;  Lord  Derwentwater  was  to  be  made  a 
Duke  ;  Tom  to  receive  the  rank  and  title  of  Earl  of  Bamborough  : 
he  himself  was  to  be  a  permanent  Under-Secretary,  but  I  forget  of 
what  department — I  think,  however,  it  was  of  the  Navy,  because, 
like  all  Englishmen,  he  loved  ships,  and  was  ready  at  any  time  to 
prove  that  the  English  fleets  were  being  ruined.  As  for  me,  I  was 
to  be  advanced  to  the  rank  of  Earl's  daughter,  and  to  be  styled  the 
Lady  Dorothy  Forster.  An  unheard-of  prosperity  was  to  reward 
the  whole  country  for  its  return  to  loyalty.  Thus,  we  were  to  drive 
the  French  out  of  North  America,  which,  from  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 
to  the  North  Pole,  was  to  belong  to  the  English ;  we  were  to  estab- 
lish new  trading  forts  along  the  coast  of  India,  and  oust  the  French 
from  their  settlements  in  the  East.  "We  were  to  turn  the  Dutch  ont 
of  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope ;  to  extend  our  trade  to  China ;  to 
occupy  the  islands  newly  discovered  in  the  great  Pacific  Ocean. 
'  Why,'  I  said,  '  it  is  a  dream  of  universal  conquest.' 

*  It  is  more,'  he  went  on.  '  We  shall  establish  wherever  we  go  the 
teaching  of  the  pure  Gospel  and  the  Articles  of  the  Church  of 
England  ;  we  shall  even  convert  to  Protestantism  the  Irish  people, 
so  that  they,  too,  like  the  rest  of  the  United  Kingdom,  shall  become 
contented  and  loyal.' 

A  thousand  other  prophecies,  projects,  and  designs  he  had  which 
I  forget  or  cannot  write  down,  because  it  makes  my  head  swim 
only  to  think  of  them.  Mr.  Hilyard's  head  was  always  filled  with 
such  inventions,  fancies,  and  imaginations. 

Unfortunately,  all  this  beautiful  structure  of  history  proved  to 
be  only  what  the  French  call  a  Chateau  en  Espagne,  that  is  to  say, 
a  castle  in  the  air,  a  child's  tower  built  of  cards,  a  dream  of  the 
morning.  For  in  a  day  or  two  we  heard  the  choking  news  that  the 
Elector  of  Hanover  had  been  proclaimed  King  without  opposition. 
There  were  no  bonfires  for  the  Prince,  no  illuminations,  no  shouting 
of  a  loyal  mob.  The  '  Jacks,'  we  heard,  were  downcast  and  aespair- 
ing.  At  White's  Coffee  House  the  gentlemen  looked  at  each  other 
with  blank  faces  ;  the  Whigs  cocked  their  hats  and  went  with 
sprightly  mien.  As  for  poor  Queen  Anne,  no  one,  so  far  as  we 
could  hear,  seemed  to  pity  her.  It  is  the  fate  of  Kings.  In  their 
lifetime  they  are  the  idols  (if  they  believe  all  they  are  told)  of 
their  subjects  ;  they  are  models  of  virtue  and  piety  ;  they  are  en- 
dowed by  Heaven  with  genius  incomparable  ;  yet  when  they  die  no 
one  laments  ;  and  the  praise  is  transferred  to  the  successor.  Queen 
Anne  is  dead.  Wherefore,  without  so  much  as  a  ^  Poor  Queen  Anne  !' 
throw  up  caps  and  shout  for  the  pious  and  virtuous  Prince  who  is 
crossing  the  sea  in  the  Peregrine  yacht,  no  doubt  full  of  love  towards 
his  loving  subjects. 

*  Alas  !'  cried  Mr.  Hilyard,  when  he  had  somewhat  recovered  the 
blow.    *  To  the  wise  man  who  hath  read  history  and  reflects,  the 


J^R,  HlLVARUS  DREAM, 


177 


rocks  resound  with  the  clashing  of  arms,  and  the  rivers  rui .  with 
blood/  He  added,  one  after  the  other,  half  a  dozen  passages  from 
the  Latin  poets,  all  of  which  fortified  him  in  his  gloomy  opinion. 

After  this  it  seemed  as  if  there  was  no  more  peace  or  quietness 
for  us,  but  for  ever  disquieting  rumours.  Mr.  Hilyard  would  ride 
as  far  as  Alnwick  for  news,  or  even  to  Newcastle.  Sometimes 
Lady  Crewe  would  send  me  a  London  letter.  In  this  way  we 
heard  that  London  was  greatly  distm^bed,  but  the  City  firm  for  the 
Protestant  Succession  ;  that  men  were  constantly  flogged,  flung  into 
prison,  and  fined  for  loyalty  to  the  Prince  :  the  air  was  full  of 
rumours.  In  the  General  Election  of  1714,  Tom  was  returned 
again  without  opposition  :  he  also  visited  Lady  Crewe  and  the 
Bishop  ;  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  they  advised  him  again  to 
move  with  caution  and  have  nothing  to  do  with  plots.  Alas !  he 
was  already  drawn  in,  and  now  too  far  gone  to  recede.  Besides, 
under  his  frank  and  easy  nature  there  lay,  as  we  all  knew,  a  loyalty 
towards  his  friends  which  nothing  could  shake.  This  was  shown 
in  the  end,  when  others  held  back  and  he  led  the  way. 

*  There  is,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  speaking  of  this  time,  long  after- 
wards, *  a  point  in  the  history  of  all  conspiracies  at  which  a  man, 
who  has  gone  so  far,  cannot  retire.  His  honour  is  at  stake — more, 
his  very  safety  demands  that  he  continue  ;  he  is  involved  in  the 
common  ruin  or  the  common  triumph.  In  this  respect  the  history 
of  all  conspiracies  is  the  same.' 

As  for  this  one,  which  was  hatching,  as  one  may  say,  for  fifteen 
years,  how  should  I  know  it,  except  from  such  shreds  and  scraps  as 
Mr.  Hilyard  hath  got  for  me  and  pieced  together  after  a  fashion  ? 
The  chief  leaders  who  were  known,  such  as  Bishop  Atterbury,  the 
Duke  of  Ormond,  and  Lord  Bolingbroke,  had  with  them  men  of 
equal  rank  with  themselves.  With  them  were  associated  a  great 
number  of  gentlemen  :  some  of  them  Irish  adventurers,  some 
younger  sons,  some  clergymen,  who  served  as  messengers— it  was 
designed  by  means  of  these  messengers  to  ensure  risings  on  or 
about  the  same  day  in  various  parts  of  the  kingdom.  Commands 
were  formed  ;  Tom,  for  instance,  was  to  lead  the  Prince's  forces  in 
the  north,  assisted  (because  he  knew  nothing  of  the  art  of  war)  by 
Colonel  Oxbrough  ;  honours  were  to  be  bestowed  and  places  given 
to  those  who  faithfully  served  the  Prince.  His  Royal  Highness 
would  himself  join  the  insurgents  :  at  the  first  considerable  success, 
it  was  confidently  reckoned  that  the  troops  would  break  away  and 
come  over  to  us.  As  for  the  Highlanders,  they  were  already  safe  ; 
our  side  would  give  them  pay.  The  Established  Church  would  be 
left  undisturbed  :  and  as  for  the  Dissenters — why,  in  the  opinion 
of  most  of  these  Tories,  there  were  few  punishments  too  bad  for  a 
Dissenter. 

'  As  for  me,  Tony,'  said  Tom,  partly  unfolding  this  design— but 
he  knew  very  well  that  he  could  trust  his  man — '  as  for  me,  I  am 
assured  of  a  peerage.  That,  with  a  grant  of  land — some  of  the 
confiscated  estates — and  a  post  in  the  Ministry,  will  satisfy  me.  I 
am  not  greedy.    Hang  it,  man — (this  bottle  is  finished  :  open 


178 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


t'other) — prate  not  to  me  of  prudence !  there  are  too  many  of  us 
embarked  not  to  make  it  a  safe  job.  Besides,  think  you,  Tony, 
that  I  like  being  my  lady's  pensioner  ?  What  assurance  have  I 
that,  in  the  end,  she  does  not  throw  me  over  ;  or  that  my  lord  hath 
devised  the  Bamborough  estates  to  her,  or  to  me  after  her  death  ? 
And  then,  am  I  to  fall  back  upon  Etherston,  where  my  father  is 
already  so  crippled  that  the  most  he  can  do  is  to  keep  himself,  with 
his  wife  and  children  and  my  brother  Jack  ?  What  will  it  be 
when  madam's  jointure  has  to  be  added  ?  Why,  half  the  gentle- 
men in  Northumberland  want  such  a  windfall  as  a  successful  rising 
to  put  them  on  their  legs  again.  We  will  burn  all  the  papers,  Tony, 
and  hang  up  the  rascal  lawyers,  who  are  Whigs  to  a  man,  and  would 
turn  honest  people  out  of  their  own,  because  they  owe  a  parcel  of 
debt.' 

He  presently  went  back  to  London,  and  we  waited,  being  pretty 
sure  that  the  attempt  would  not  be  far  off. 

*  Oh  !'  I  cried,  *  they  are  strong  men  and  brave  men,  and  the 
country  is  with  them  !  and  yet  they  wait  and  wait,  and  the  time  it 
passeth  by.' 

*  Nay,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard  gently ;  '  but  this  business  of  rebellion 
and  civil  war  is  a  most  dreadful  thing,  as  well  for  the  right  as  for 
the  wrong.  Certain  I  am  that  not  without  grievous  bloodshed,  and 
perhaps  a  religious  war  as  great  and  terrible  as  that  in  France  a 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  will  the  Prince  come  to  his  own.  Con- 
sider, I  pray  you,  the  sufferings  of  the  wounded,  the  agonies  of 
widows  and  orphans,  the  ruined  homes — alas  !  the  pity  of  it.' 

He  stopped,  being  greatly  moved — indeed,  since  he  understood 
the  measure  of  the  danger  and  the  certainty  of  the  design,  he  had 
been  much  cast  down — and  presently  fetched  down  a  great  volume, 
in  the  reading  of  which  he  ever  took  great  delight. 

*  Let  me,'  he  said,  '  read  to  you  something  on  this  subject  by  the 
learned  Burton,  in  his  "  Anatomy  of  Melancholie."  ' 

He  read  a  chapter  concerning  war  and  its  dreadful  evils.  At  the 
reading  I  was  filled  with  shame  that  I  should  desire  so  grievous  a 
thing.  And  yet,  what  to  do,  since  the  right  cause  must  prevail,  and 
there  lies  but  one  way  ? 

'  The  right  cause,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard.  '  Yes  ;  the  right  cause, 
truly.  Yet  the  trouble  remains,  in  all  human  affairs,  to  find  out 
the  right  cause.  For,  except  to  women,  who  are  ever  certain  and 
sure  that  they  possess  the  Truth  absolute,  there  is  always  so  much 
to  say,  first  on  this  side,  then  on  the  other,  and  that  without  being 
a  rhetorician  or  chopper  of  logic  ;  so  that  even  I,  for  my  own  part, 
do  not  always  discern  which  is  the  right.  Truly,  I  think  that,  in 
all  our  human  institutions,  there  is  so  much  of  error  in  the  founda- 
tion that  it  infects  the  whole.  For,  as  to  the  Divine  Eight  of  Kings, 
how  know  we  who  first  made  the  first  king  ?  Was  it,  perchance, 
some  tall  and  strong  man,  such  as  Mr.  Stokoe,  who  elected  himself  ? 
And  have  not,  in  all  ages,  kings  supported  themselves  by  wars — 
that  is,  by  strength  ?  Would  it  not  have  been  better  to  have  had 
no  kings?    Rome  was  never  so  happy  as  under  a  Republic^,  nox 


MR.  HILYARDS  DREAM. 


Athens  as  under  her  Archons  ;  the  greatness  of  Sparta  compareth 
not  with  that  of  Athens.  Yet,  again,  is  the  ignorant  and  greasy 
mob  to  rule  all,  being  swayed  by  brutal  passions  and  ungoverned 
desires  ?' 

*  Do  you  mean,  Mr.  Hilyard,  that  the  Prince's  cause  is  not  a  holy 
and  righteous  cause  ?' 

*  I  mean.  Miss  Dorothy,  that  the  cause  embraced  by  his  honour, 
my  patron  and  benefactor,  and  by  you,  whose  humble  servant  I  am, 
is  also  mine,  whether  it  be  right  or  wrong.^ 

He  bowed  his  head,  and  his  eye  glittered.  ISTever  before,  save 
when  he  personated  the  Prince  in  the  village  inn,  had  I  seen  a  more 
noble  look  in  his  face.  He  was,  it  is  true,  only  my  lady's  steward, 
and  a  poor  scholar,  who  had  been  Tom's  tutor,  notorious  throughout 
the  county  for  his  buffooneries  and  his  singing  ;  yet  our  gentlemen 
would  have  done  well  had  they  taken  his  counsel  before  they  trusted 
their  own. 

All  this  time  Lord  Derwentwater  made  no  sign,  and  though  an 
attempt  has  been  made  to  prove  that  he  was  privy  to  the  design 
from  the  beginning,  it  is  not  true.  I  say  not  that  he  suspected 
nothing.  He  would  have  been  a  stock  and  stone,  and  a  fool  to 
boot,  not  to  know  very  well  that  serious  things  were  contemplated. 
But,  for  his  part,  he  was  not  consulted  ;  that  is  most  certain.  He 
wished  for  nothing  but  peace  and  quiet,  and  the  society  of  wife 
and  children.  Yet  the  men  who  projected  the  rebellion  knew  very 
well  that  they  were  sure  of  him.  It  was  not  only  that  he  was  the 
grandson  of  King  Charles — other  sons  and  grandsons,  such  as  the 
Dukes  of  Richmond  and  St.  Alban's,  were  not  ashamed,  any  more 
than  the  Lady  Dorchester,  once  the  mistress  of  King  James  him- 
self, to  attend  King  George's  coronation — it  was  because  he  had 
been  the  playfellow  of  the  Prince,  and  was  known  to  be  of  the 
highest  honour  and  courage. 

Early  in  the  year  1715 — I  think  in  March — the  Houses  of  Par- 
liament were  opened  by  the  King,  who  called  the  attention  of  both 
Houses  to  the  assistance  which  the  Prince  was  expecting  to  receive. 
Then  we  heard  that  Lord  Bolingbroke  had  fled.  Then  other 
rumours  reached  us  ;  as  that  search  for  treasonable  papers  had 
been  conducted  in  the  barracks  ;  that  all  officers  had  been  ordered 
to  return  to  their  regiments  at  once  ;  that  the  Prince  had  left 
Lorraine  ;  that  the  Earl  of  Mar  had  gone  into  Scotland — what  does 
it  matter  to  set  down  all  the  things  we  heard  and  talked  in  those 
days  ? 

*  How  can  I  tell/  asked  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  which  way  London  doth 
now  incline  ?  In  my  young  days  we  were  all  for  King  William 
and  the  Protestant  religion  ;  nor  can  I  understand  how  the  better 
sort — the  Lord  Mayor,  the  Aldermen,  Common  Council,  and  grave 
citizens — can  have  changed,  unless  it  be  that  the  stories  we  hear  are 
true,  and  that  there  is  not  a  man  about  the  new  Court  who  is  a 
good  Churchman,  or  even  a  staunch  Dissenter.  Indifference  and 
unbelief  the  City  will  not  endure  any  more  than  Popery.' 

Then  we  heard  that  there  was  a  general  flight  from  London  of 

12—2 


i8o 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


all  the  Roman  Catholics.  This  was  followed  by  a  proclamation 
ordering  Papists  to  withdraw  to  at  least  ten  miles  from  London  ;  a 
clergyman  in  Edinburgh  begged  the  prayers  of  the  congregation  for 
a  young  gentleman  that  either  was,  or  would  soon  be,  at  sea  ;  riots 
were  reported  from  Oxford,  Birmingham,  and  other  places  ;  and 
yet  the  houses  and  the  shipping  on  the  Thames  were  illuminated 
when  King  George  went  up  and  down  the  river  ;  and  a  camp  was 
formed  in  Hyde  Park. 

One  day  in  August  I  received  a  letter  from  Lady  Crewe,  super- 
scribed, '  Haste !  Post  Haste !'  She  had,  she  said,  heavy  news  to 
communicate  about  Tom.  She  had  heard  from  a  safe  quarter  that 
the  Ministry  had  resolved  upon  seizing  the  persons  of  all  the 
principal  Jacobite  gentlemen  of  the  north  and  elsewhere.  Among 
them  she  knew  was  included  Mr.  Thomas  Forster  the  younger. 

*  I  know  not,'  she  added,  *  what  correspondence  (if  any)  my 
nephew  hath  had  with  the  Prince  and  his  friends,  or  what  papers 
he  hath  in  his  possession.  Do  thou,  however,  Dorothy,  enjoin  him 
strictly  from  me,  if  he  be  riding  north  (which  seems  likely,  since  I 
have  had  no  late  tidings  of  him),  that  he  burn  all  his  papers,  and 
then  surrender  himself,  lest  worse  follow,  unto  the  nearest  magistrate, 
until  the  storm  be  past.  In  this  counsel  the  Bishop  joins  heartily. 
One  must  be,  he  says,  in  such  times  as  these  either  the  reed  or  the 
oak.  Tom  is  not  strong  enough  to  be  the  oak.  Let  him  be  the 
reed,  and  meet  the  tempest  with  bowed  head.    This  for  thy  private 

We  read  and  discussed  this  letter  all  the  day.  We  knew  nothing 
— whether  Tom  was  still  in  London,  or  whether  we  could  write  to 
him.  Mr.  Hilyard  was  of  opinion  that,  the  times  being  clearly 
perilous,  the  safest  place  for  a  Tory  gentleman  was  the  Tower,  and 
for  safety's  sake  the  more  of  them  there  the  better. 

*  Because,'  he  said,  *  they  will  not  hang  them  all,  and  they  dare 
not  hang  one.' 

It  was  soon  after  dark  in  the  evening,  the  day  being  the  28th  of 
August,  the  people  of  the  village  being  all  abed,  and  the  place 
quiet,  that  we  heard  a  clattering  of  hoofs  in  the  road  outside, 
stopping  at  the  gate  of  the  Manor  House  ;  and  Mr.  Hilyard  went 
outside,  curious  and  perhaps  disquieted,  as  one  is  always  before  the 
arrival  of  misfortune.  He  returned  immediately,  bringing  with 
him  no  other  than  Tom  himcelf .  His  shoulders  were  bent,  his  face 
pale,  his  eyes  anxious,  his  clothes  covered  with  dust  and  mud. 

'  Quick,  Dorothy !'  he  said  ;  '  a  drink.  Let  it  be  October.  Quick !' 

He  drained  about  a  quart  of  ale,  and  then  sat  down  the  mug  with 
a  sigh. 

*  Why — so — that  makes  a  man  of  me  again.  I  have  been  in  the 
saddle  for  fifteen  hours,  and  am  well-nigh  spent.  There  hath  been 
as  yet  no  messenger  or  officers  after  me  ?' 

*None,  Tom.' 

*Well,  I  can  ]^'e  here,  I  think,  one  i:iigLfc  To-morrow  I  must  be 
up,  and  away  again.' 


THE  FUGITIVE.  i8i 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  FUGITIVE. 

After  he  had  taken  some  supper  and  was  refreshed,  Tom  began  to 
tell  us  more. 

'  Everything,'  he  said,  '  was  discovered — I  know  not  by  what 
treachery.  The  King,  who  seems  anxious  not  to  offend  the  House, 
asked  permission  to  arrest  six  of  the  members,  of  whom  I  was  one, 
so  that  there  was  time  for  warning  ;  and  for  my  own  part,  whatever 
the  others  did,  I  saddled  my  horse  and  rode  away,  and,  I  dare  say, 
the  messenger  after  me.  But  I  think  he  hath  not  travelled  qiiite  so 
fast,  and  I  may  be  safe  here  for  one  night  at  least.' 

He  laughed,  but  uneasily.  In  his  eyes  there  was  the  look  of  a 
hunted  creature,  and  he  started  at  the  least  sound.  Presently,  how- 
ever, he  became  so  heavy  with  sleep  and  weariness  that  ha  must 
needs  go  to  bed,  and  so,  messenger  or  no  messenger,  threw  liimself 
upon  his  bed  and  fell  asleep. 

We  sat  up  late,  thinking  how  best  to  hide  him  ;  yet  not  so  late 
but  that  before  five  in  the  morning  I  was  up,  expecting  no  less  than 
to  find  the  messenger  at  the  door.  But  there  was  no  one.  Presently, 
Tom  came,  awakened  by  Mr.  Hilyard,  and  grumbling  that  he  could 
not  have  his  sleep  out.  But  there  was  no  time  to  lose,  for  the 
village  was  already  stirring. 

The  garden  of  the  Manor  House  is  separated  from  the  sands  only 
by  a  field  of  coarse  grass.  By  crossing  this  field,  which  can  generally 
be  done  without  being  seen  by  any  of  the  villagers,  one  can  gain 
access  to  the  castle  by  the  old  postern.  It  was  thus  that  we  harried 
Tom  to  his  first  place  of  concealment — a  chamber  known  to  no  one 
but  Mr.  Hilyard  and  myself.  It  is  below  the  level  of  the  inner 
bailly,  but  yet  not  underground,  because  its  window  is  above  the 
rock,  and  looks  out  across  the  sand  and  the  sea.  The  chamber  was 
perhaps  once  used  for  a  place  of  confinement,  though  the  window 
is  larger  than  one  commonly  finds  in  such  gloomy  places.  It  is 
approached  by  certain  vaults  now  ruinous  and  partly  fallen  in,  the 
entrance  to  which  is  itself  half  hidden  by  broken  stones  and  briars, 
so  that  it  looks  like  a  broken  hole  in  the  wall.  Here  we  thought  he 
might  lie  hidden  as  long  as  he  pleased. 

At  first  Tom  was  as  pleased  as  a  child  with  a  new  toy.  As  soon, 
however,  as  he  felt  himself  safe  from  pursuit,  he  began  to  reflect 
that  a  cell  might  be  secure  but  yet  uncomfortable.  So  anxious 
were  we  about  the  main  point  that  we  gave  no  thought  to  anything 
else,  and  considered  not  the  wretchedness  of  waiting  all  day  long  in 
a  stone  chamber  whose  window  has  no  glass,  and  where  there  is 
neither  chair,  bed,  nor  table,  nor  any  convenience  at  all  for  comfort. 
The  conveyance  of  these  things  to  the  chamber  without  observation 
or  suspicion  gave  me  the  first  of  many  lessons  in  the  difficulty  of 
being  secret ;  anybody  may  easily  keep  a  secret,  but  no  one  knows, 
except  those  who  have  unhappily  been  forced  to  try,  how  hard  it  is 
to  do  a  thing  secretly,  so  as  neither  to  be  seen  nor  suspected.   In  a 


1 82 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


few  days,  the  history  of  the  warrant  and  Tom's  flight  might  be 
known  even  in  this  remote  village  :  the  messengers  would  certainly 
come  here  in  search  of  him  ;  it  was,  therefore,  of  vital  importance 
that  his  presence  should  be  suspected  by  no  one.  How,  therefore, 
all  that  day  I  conveyed  small  pieces  of  furniture  to  the  end  of  the 
garden  and  dropped  them  over  the  wall  for  Mr.  Hilyard  to  pick  up 
and  carry  them  across  to  the  castle  ;  how,  with  his  own  hands,  that 
ingenious  man,  as  ready  with  a  carpenter's  tools  as  with  a  Latin 
poem,  constructed  and  fitted  first  a  window- shutter  and  afterwards 
a  rude  kind  of  window-sash  ;  how  he  carried  blankets,  candles,  wine, 
tobacco,  and  provisions,  to  the  cell,  need  not  be  related.  No  one, 
from  the  mere  fact  of  seeing  us  go  up  to  the  castle,  would  have 
suspected  anything,  because  it  was  my  daily  resort. 

At  nightfall  we  carried  a  goodly  supply  of  supper  and  whisky  to 
the  cell,  and  there  I  left  Mr.  Hilyard,  who  came  not  away  until 
Tom  was  so  much  fortified  by  strong  drink  that  he  was  in  a  condi- 
tion not  to  fear  the  ghosts  of  the  castle,  and  was,  in  fact,  already 
asleep  upon  the  hard  bed  we  had  made  up  for  him  with  blankets 
and  pillows  strewn  on  the  stones. 

Thus  our  charge  began.  As  early  in  the  morning  as  was  possible 
without  causing  any  who  saw  to  ask  why,  I  went  to  the  castle, 
carrying  breakfast  under  my  cloak.  All  the  morning  I  sat  with 
Tom.  At  one  o'clock  I  took  him  dinner  ;  in  the  evening  Mr.  Hilyard 
brought  supper  and  sat  with  him. 

After  a  time  our  prisoner  grew  peevish,  and  hard  to  please.  He 
was  anxious  to  change  his  quarters,  and  had  it  not,  been  for  a  scare 
that  we  had  would  perhaps  have  gone  off  to  seek  shelter  elsewhere. 
Of  this  I  will  speak  presently. 

He  laughed  scornfully  at  Lady  Crewe's  counsel.  It  would  be 
safe,  he  said,  for  him  to  surrender  when  the  Prince  himself  could 
safely  surrender,  and  not  before.  There  was  enough  against  him 
to  hang  a  dozen  men,  if  hanging  was  to  begin  ;  and  he  had  left  all 
his  papers  behind  to  be  seized  by  the  olSicers. 

*  When  the  ship  is  sinking,'  he  said,  '  a  man  cares  first  to  get  oflf 
alive.  I  knew  not  when  the  warrant  would  arrive,  so  mounted  and 
rode  away  without  waiting  for  anyone.  Why,  what  matters  ?  If 
they  had  not  taken  my  papers,  they  would  have  taken  some  other's.' 

It  was  a  grave  business,  indeed  ;  and  graver  than  we  looked  for 
at  first,  when  we  thought  he  was  to  be  arrested  only  on  account  of 
his  opinions. 

*  So  it  is,  however,  Dorothy,'  he  said,  *  and  nothing  is  left  but  to 
push  on  the  Prince's  interest.  Fear  not,  child  !  Why,  all  is  ready  ; 
the  country  is  with  us  ;  the  train  is  laid.  Yet  a  week  or  two  and 
thou  shalt  see  an  explosion  will  startle  all  England.  Fortune  and 
rank  are  before  us  when  we  have  succeeded.' 

'  And  if  we  fail  ?^  Mr.  Hilyard  muttered  with  serious  face. 

*  Tony,'  said  Tom,  *  I  take  that  for  a  most  peevish,  ill-natured 
speech.  "  If  we  fail,"  he  says  !  Why,  do  you  ask  a  sailor  when  he 
embarks  what  he  will  do  if  the  ship  be  wrecked  ?  or  a  soldier  before 
a  battle,  how  if  he  be  shot  ?    Hark  ye,  brother — there  is  one  com- 


THE  FUGITIVE. 


183 


fort  for  me  if  we  fail.  I  risk  my  neck,  but  not  my  estates,  for  I 
have  none.    So  talk  no  more  of  failure,  Tony,  if  you  love  me.' 

Whenever  I  think  of  this  time,  and  consider  that  we  were  engaged 
upon  so  dangerous  a  piece  of  work,  much  I  wonder  that  we  carried 
it  through  with  success.  Yet  we  did,  thanks  to  the  extraordinary 
precautions  taken  by  Mr.  Hilyard.  For,  first,  he  would  have  none 
in  the  secret  at  all — no,  not  even  Tom's  old  companions,  Ned  Swin- 
bm-ne  and  Perry  Widdrington,  though  they  rode  over  a  dozen  times 
for  news  of  their  friend. 

To  them  Mr.  Hilyard  replied  that  he  had  good  assurance  of  his 
honour's  safety,  but  that  until  Mr.  Forster  chose  to  reveal  his 
whereabouts  it  would  be  better  for  his  friends  not  to  inquire.  Nor 
would  he  suffer  any  of  the  people  in  the  village  to  be  informed,  nor 
the  maids  in  the  house,  saying  that  these  would  be  the  first  to  be 
suspected,  and,  if  they  were  arrested,  would  certainly,  from  sheer 
terror  and  dread  of  the  whipping-post,  tell  all  they  knew.  '  Pinch 
a  rat,'  he  said,  '  and  he  will  squeak.'  As  for  the  additional  food 
required,  we  both  pretended  great  and  uncommon  appetite.  Mr, 
Hilyard,  for  his  part  generally  a  small  eater,  though  valiant  with  a 
bottle,  assumed  the  guise  of  a  desperate  trencherman,  comparing  him- 
self with  the  Grand  Monarque  himself,  who  is  said  to  devour  daily 
enough  to  maintain  ten  ordinary  people  (I  mean  not  in  the  rhetori- 
cal sense,  in  which  he  hath  devoured — that  is,  impoverished — his 
whole  country,  but  in  the  literal  sense).  Then,  after  nightfall,  he 
would  steal  out,  carrying  a  great  basket  laden  with  next  day's  pro- 
visions, to  the  chamber  in  the  castle,  where  Tom  would  take  his 
supper,  and  they  would  talk,  drink,  and  smoke  tobacco  till  the  pri- 
soner was  sleepy.  This  we  did  during  the  whole  of  the  month  of 
August,  and  half-way  through  September,  Tom  all  the  time  expect- 
ing every  day  to  hear  of  a  rising  over  the  whole  country.  No  news 
coming  to  us,  he  chafed  and  wondered  by  what  mischance  the  pro- 
ject was  hindered.  I  cannot  doubt  that  what  Tom  told  me  was 
true,  and  that  so  many  noblemen  and  gentlemen  all  over  the  country 
should  be  in  the  plot,  should  have  given  solemn  promises,  and  should 
be  looking  for  the  business  to  begin,  fills  me  now  with  amazement 
that  the  result  was  so  meagre.  Alas  !  it  costs  more  than  promises 
to  make  a  Kebellion  become  a  Revolution. 

As  for  the  scare  of  which  I  have  spoken,  it  was  caused  by  the 
visit  of  Mr.  Ridley,  Justice  of  the  Peace,  with  three  or  four  messen- 
gers, armed  with  a  warrant  to  search  for  Tom.  With  him  was  my 
father,  grave  and  anxious,  my  brother  Jack,  and  my  half-brother 
Ralph,  now  a  lad  of  thirteen  or  fourteen. 

*  Dorothy,'  whispered  my  father,  *  surely  thou  hast  not  been  so 
foolish  as  to  hide  Tom  in  the  Manor  House  ?' 

'Nay,  sir,'  I  replied  truthfully,  and  aloud.  *  Tom  is  not  here. 
Mr.  Ridley  might  like,  perhaps,  to  content  himself.' 

Mr.  Ridley  told  us  that  he  was  charged  to  look  for  and  to  arrest 
Mr.  Thomas  Forster  the  younger  ;  that  he  had  been  traced  north  as 
far  as  Newcastle  ;  and  that  it  was  believed  he  had  taken  refuge  in 
this,  his  own  house.    I  assm'ed  him  that  he  was  not  there.    At  first 


DOROTHY  FO ESTER, 


he  was  for  taking  my  word,  but  his  officers  murmured.  Therefore 
he  said  that  he  must,  with  my  permission,  visit  the  house.  This  he 
did  in  a  civil  and  discreet  manner,  being  a  gentleman  of  as  old  a 
family  as  our  own,  and  by  no  means  desirous  of  finding  Tom. 
They  went  into  all  the  rooms,  one  after  the  other  ;  first  my  own, 
with  the  maids'  room  beside  it  ;  Tom's  room  next,  with  his  bed 
ready  made,  but  no  sign  of  its  having  been  used,  and  Mr.  Hilyard's 
last. 

Then  the  officers  whispered  together  again,  and,  with  Mr.  Ridley, 
rode  up  to  the  castle- wall,  where  all  dismounted,  and  went  into  the 
ruins,  my  father  and  I  following. 

*  I  ask  not  where  he  is,  Dorothy,'  said  my  father.  *  Sure  I  am 
that  he  would  tell  thee.  But  is  he  safe  ?  Mr.  Ridley  tells  me  that 
there  is  as  much  against  him  as  against  the  Duke  of  Ormond.' 

'  I  believe,  sir,'  I  replied,  '  that  he  is  perfectly  safe.' 

They  searched  the  great  keep  from  top  to  bottom  ;  they  peered 
down  the  well  ;  they  climbed  the  broken  stairs  ;  they  looked  into 
the  open  and  roofless  rooms,  along  the  broken  walls  ;  and  they  found 
nobody.  But  they  did  not  know  of  the  ruined  vaults,  where  the 
ground  slopes  northwards  to  the  postern-gate,  nor  did  they  know 
that  in  a  chamber  beneath  their  feet,  looking  across  the  sands,  sat 
at  that  moment  Mr.  Forster  himself,  with  Mr.  Hilyard,  a  tankard 
of  ale  between  them,  and  each  with  a  pipe  of  tobacco  in  his  mouth, 
as  if  they  had  been  at  White's  in  St.  James's  Street. 

Then  they  went  away,  and  so  we  were  quiet,  except  for  our  scare. 
For  my  own  part,  I  confess  that  I  was  pale  with  terror,  and  my 
heart  beat,  but  chiefly  on  account  of  the  boy  Ralph,  who  still  kept 
running  here  and  there,  as  if,  like  the  foolish  and  ignorant  lad  that 
he  was,  he  wished  to  discover  his  brother's  hiding-place ;  and  I  was 
ashamed  of  myself  for  being  so  bad  an  actor,  because  my  cheeks  and 
eyes  made  it  manifest  to  some  that  I  was  in  fear,  which  made  the 
men  continue  the  search  more  narrowly. 

'  Humph !'  said  my  father  at  length,  when  the  officers  desisted 
from  the  search,  and  left  the  castle.  '  Send  me  Mr.  Hilyard  to- 
morrow morning.' 

But  Mr.  Hilyard  told  him  nothing,  and  so  discreetly  conducted 
himself  that  he  left  my  father  in  ignorance  whether  or  no  he  knew 
where  Tom  was  hidden. 

One  officer  remained  in  the  village.  He  knew  nothing  concerning 
Mr.  Hilyard,  but  thought  that  if  he  followed  me  about  he  should 
certainly  learn  something.  Wherefore,  I  made  feigned  expeditions, 
and  led  him  many  a  pretty  dance  to  Belford,  Lucker,  Beal,  and 
North  Sunderland,  and  would  have  taken  him  farther  afield  (because 
he  had  tender  feet),  but  that  my  own  legs  would  carry  me  no 
farther.  While  I  was  thus  tramping  across  the  fields,  Mr.  Hilyard 
was  sitting  with  the  fugitive  in  his  retreat,  keeping  him  cheerful. 

And  presently  the  officer  went  away  too,  and  we  heard  that  they 
were  looking  for  Tom  in  the  houses  of  his  friends. 

'  Let  them  search  everywhere,'  said  Mr,  Hilyard.  *  I  fear  nothing 
but  his  own  impatience.' 


THE  FUGITIVE. 


185 


Tom  could  not,  in  fact,  endure  the  confinement  of  his  cell ;  once 
or  twice  he  broke  loose,  and  I  surprised  him  walking  about  in  the 
inner  court  of  the  castle  by  day,  as  if  secure  that  no  one  would 
enter  :  it  is  irksome  for  an  active  man  to  be  kept  all  day  long  in  a 
little  chamber  half  underground.  Then  he  railed  at  poor  Mr.  Hil- 
yard  for  not  taking  his  friends  into  confidence ;  for  not  bringing 
him  more  beer ;  because  his  food  must  needs  be  cold ;  because  he 
would  not  sit  with  him  all  day  long  ;  and  was  as  unreasonable  as  a 
child,  taking  the  service  and  patience  of  this  faithful  creature  as  if 
it  were  a  thing  to  which  he  was  entitled.  At  night,  with  his  punch 
and  his  tobacco,  he  was  easier,  and  told,  over  and  over  again,  how 
he  became  a  conspirator  :  chiefly  because  he  hoped  for  wealth,  and 
could  not  bear  to  think  that  he  was,  save  for  the  small  inheritance 
of  Etherston,  a  dependent  on  the  bounty  of  his  aunt.  I  think  that 
if  Lady  Crewe  had  given  him  some  part  of  the  estate  which  she 
designed  for  him  it  might  have  been  better.  Yet  who  would  assure 
her  that  this  part,  too,  w^ould  not  go  the  same  way  as  it  had  gone 
before?  After  all,  it  is  the  way  of  the  county  ;  Tom  was  not  the 
only  Northumberland  gentleman  who  loved  a  lavish  way  of  life  ;  he 
was  not  the  only  man  who  cast  in  his  fortunes  (after  they  were 
ruined)  with  those  of  the  Prince  (which,  I  now  perceive,  were 
desperate),  in  the  hope  of  winning  back  all,  and  more.  But  if  he 
had  owned  something  he  might  have  been  content  to  wait. 

Other  news  Mr.  Hilyard  got  together ;  as  that  Lord  Derwent- 
water  remained  perfectly  quiet .  Tom  declared  that  he  was  never  in 
any  conspiracy  or  plot  whatever ;  his  house  at  Dilston  harboured 
none  of  the  secret  messengers ;  to  all  appearance  he  was  entirely 
occupied  in  the  management  of  his  estates,  and  in  the  new  house 
which  he  proposed  to  build,  and,  indeed,  had  already  begun,  but 
had  no  time  to  finish.  I  have  seen  a  letter  written  by  him  in  this 
very  month  of  August,  in  which  he  expressed  his  earnest  prayer  for 
peace  and  quiet, '  of  which,'  he  added, '  we  have  had  so  little  as  yet.' 
Ah !  had  this  most  amiable  of  men  been  born  in  a  lowlier  station ! 
Could  he,  without  reproach,  have  spent  his  life  careless  of  princes 
and  politics,  how  happy  would  he  have  been !  Some  of  us  seem 
especially  born  for  happiness  ;  they  evidently  desire  it  both  for 
themselves  and  for  those  they  love  ;  they  are  by  nature  benevolent, 
generous,  active  in  relieving  those  who  suffer :  such  an  one  was  my 
lord,  born  to  be  himself  happy  and  to  make  others  happy. 

It  was,  I  remember,  on  September  the  15th,  being  Friday  (a  most 
ominous  and  unlucky  day  of  the  week),  that  Mr.  Hilyard  came 
running  home  with  a  face  greatly  agitated. 

*They  have  begun!'  he  cried.  Then  he  sat  down  and  looked 
round  him  as  one  who  is  trying  to  understand  the  meaning  of 
things.  *  They  have  begun !  Alas !  It  needed  not  a  prophet  to 
foretell,  when  the  Queen  died,  the  blood  which  should  flow.' 

*  Who  have  begun,  Mr.  Hilyajrd  ?    Tell  me — quick  !' 

*  Let  us  go  tell  his  honour.  He  was  right ;  they  have  begun,  and 
no  man  can  tell  the  end.  It  is  easy  to  talk  of  rebellion  ;  but  to  play 
at  it — there,  indeed !   But  let  us  to  the  castle  and  tell  his  honour.' 


i86  DOROTHY  FORSTER. 

He  rose,  and  shook  his  head  dolefully. 

*  What  hath  been  begun  ?'  I  repeated. 

*The  Scots  have  begun.  Four  days  ago  they  proclaimed  the 
Prince  at  Kirk  Michael.  I  have  it  from  the  gipsies,  some  of  whom 
were  there  and  saw  it  done.  They  are  reported  to  be  already  5,000 
strong.' 

This  was  news  indeed.  Should  we  be  kept  back  when  the  Scots 
had  led  the  way?  Why,  in  a  moment,  all  the  things  I  had  heard 
since  I  was  a  child  rushed  to  my  brain.  The  rising  was  always  to 
begin  in  Scotland  ;  it  was  to  be  supported  by  the  Highlanders  ;  ifc 
was  to  be  followed  by  risings  in  Ireland,  the  West,  the  Noirth,  and 
the  Midland  Counties.  The  project  was  always  the  same.  And 
now,  after  many  years,  we  were  to  see  the  great  design  carried  out. 
The  thing  was  so  great,  that  to  think  of  it  actually  as  begun  made 
one's  head  to  reel. 

*  Yes,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard  gravely,  '  his  honour  will  have  his  chu^ice 
at  last.  It  is  an  Earl's  coronet — promised  by  the  Chief  of  a  House 
which  is  famous,  as  everybody  knows,  for  keeping  promises — the 
gratitude  of  the  Prince  on  the  one  side  ;  on  the  other — what  ?  At 
the  best,  flight  in  France ;  at  the  worst — nay,  Miss  Dorothy,  look 
not  so  pale.  In  war,  even  in  civil  war,  which  is  fiercer  and  more 
sanguinary,  there  are  a  thousand  chances.  What !  The  Prince 
may  be  successful ;  the  army,  as  they  hope,  may  join  him ;  the 
sailors,  as  they  desire,  may  mutiny ;  the  people,  as  they  trust,  may 
love  Divine  Right  more  than  they  fear  the  fires  of  Smithfield  ;  they 
may  love  the  comely  face  of  a  young  Prince  more  than  they  dread 
the  Inquisition.  What  do  I  know  ?  Even  London — all  is  possible ; 
all — believe  me.  Wherefore,  courage!  we  are  embarked  upon  an 
enterprise  full  of  uncertainty.  But  courage  !  all  may  yet  go  well, 
though  one  may  still  fear  the  worst.' 

With  such  despondency  did  Mr.  Hilyard  receive  the  news  which 
filled  my  foolish  heart  with  joy.  But  he  was  never  a  Tory  at  heart, 
being  so  jealous  for  the  Protestant  religion,  that  he  could  never 
believe  the  Church  safe  under  a  Catholic  King.  He  went  off,  there- 
fore, hanging  his  head,  to  carry  the  news  to  the  castle. 

Tom  received  the  news  with  so  much  joy,  that  at  first  he  was  for 
throwing  off  all  concealment,  and  at  once  proclaiming  the  Prince  on 
the  steps  of  Bamborough  Castle.  Then  he  would  ride  about  openly 
and  resist  the  authority  of  the  warrant ;  or  he  would  take  up  his 
residence  at  the  Manor  House  ;  or  he  would  enlist  as  many  men  as 
possible,  and  go  across  the  Border  to  join  the  Scots.  All  these  steps 
Mr.  Hilyard  combated,  pointing  out  that  the  pursuit  and  search 
after  him  would  be  the  hotter  for  the  Scotch  news  ;  that  to  resist 
the  warrant  would  be  madness,  unless  he  were  assured  of  his  friends' 
backing  ;  and  that  no  Northumberland  men  would  cross  the  Border 
to  fight  beside  the  Scots. 

*  However,'  said  Tom,  *  one  thing  I  am  resolved — I  will  leave  this 
cursed  doghole,  and  that  at  once.  Where  else  canst  thou  stow  a 
man,  Tony?' 

'  Why,  indeed,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  there  is  no  place  so  snug  aa 


THE  FUGITIVE. 


187 


this.  But,  if  proper  precautions  are  used,  I  see  not  why  Fame 
Island — but  that  when  all  else  fails — or  Blanchland,  or  there  are  dry 
holes  up  Devilstone  Water,  or  there  are  the  miners'  huts  at  Allen- 
dale, or,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  there  are  the  gipsies,  who 
would  take  your  honour  across  the  Cheviots  by  a  safe  path,  and  so 
to  Lord  Mar  himself,  if  you  are  assured  ' 

*  Assured,  man  !  I  am  assured  of  nothing,  save  that  it  is  my  only 
chance.    But  first  let  me  talk  with  some  of  my  friends.' 

He  was  so  restless  that,  to  keep  him  quiet,  we  agreed  to  ride  with 
him  to  Blanchland,  where  he  might  confer  with  Lord  Derwentwater. 
We  rode  by  night  for  greater  safety,  resting  at  the  house  of  a  friend 
who  shall  be  nameless — of  friends  there  were  plenty — in  the  day. 
There  was  to  be  one  more  night  journey  for  me  with  Tom,  but  of 
that  I  knew  not  then,  and  rode  beside  him  proud  and  joyful  that 
the  long  suspense  was  to  be  ended  and  the  battle  fought.  The  God 
of  War  is  worshipped,  I  am  sure,  with  as  much  faith  by  women  as 
by  men.  To  me,  thinking  while  we  rode  silently  in  the  light  of  the 
moon  upon  the  open  moor  or  in  the  black  shade  of  the  woods,  my 
heart  glowed  within  me,  and  it  seemed  as  if  we  were  only  doing  at 
last  what  ought  to  have  been  done  long  ago  :  since  the  right  was 
with  us,  the  Lord  was  with  us. 

*  Yes,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  when  I  told  him  this.  '  But  still  I  say, 
happy  the  man  who  joins  the  last,  when  he  is  quite  sure  the  Lord 
is  with  the  cause,  and  hath  proved  His  favour  by  manifesting  His 
might.  How  know  we  that,  if  Heaven  intends  to  interfere,  the 
time  for  interference  hath  yet  arrived  ?' 

Thus  it  is  with  men  who  exhort  each  other  to  be  strong,  to  have 
faith,  to  rejoice  in  right  and  justice,  and  to  make  poor  women  feel 
certain.  Yet,  when  the  time  comes,  there  are  so  many  doubts  and 
hesitations  that  one  looks  on  in  amaze,  and  asks  where  faith  hath 
gone. 

No  messengers  had  come  to  Blanchland,  nor,  we  found,  had  any 
knowledge  of  the  business  reached  to  that  place  at  all.  "W e  rested 
there  one  night,  and  the  next  morning  I  rose  early,  and,  leaving 
Tom  in  this  lonely  retreat,  rode  across  the  moor  with  Mr.  Hilyard, 
to  Dilston,  not  without  some  misgivings  of  my  meeting  with  the 
Earl  (which  were  unworthy  of  him  as  well  as  of  myself). 

CHAPTER  XXm. 

WHAT  WILL   HE  DO? 

When  last  I  saw  Dilston  it  was  in  the  dead  of  winter  ;  the  woods 
were  bare  of  leaves,  and  the  dark  Devilstone  Water  poured  through 
its  narrow  rocky  banks  in  a  broad  stream ;  now  the  rocks  were 
hidden  with  trees  and  brambles,  alder,  wych-elm,  and  rowan,  and 
bright  with  summer  flowers ;  while,  as  one  stood  upon  the  little 
bridge,  the  shrunken  water  was  like  a  little  thread  of  silver  running 
among  great  mossy  stones. 

The  courtyard  of  the  castle  was  full  of  people — some  old  men  and 
U^omen  waiting  for  the  doles  which  were  freely  given  every  day ; 


i88 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


some  farmers  wanting  to  have  speech  with  my  lord ;  some  stable- 
boys,  grooms,  and  men  with  guns  and  dogs.  As  we  went  up  the 
steps  which  lead  to  the  greivt  hall,  he  came  out  himself  and  met  us. 

'  Why,  Mr.  Hilyard  !'  he  said,  laughing ;  '  my  lusty  Tony  !  how 
goes  it  with  Mr.  Forster  ?'  And  here  I  threw  back  my  hood  and  he 
recognised  me.  *  Dorothy !'  he  cried,  his  kind  eyes  softening  ;  '  my 
cousin  Dorothy !'  He  gave  me  both  his  hands.  '  It  is  four  years 
since  we  met — and  then — you  are  well  and  happy,  cousin  ?' 

'  Quite  well,  my  lord  ;  and  as  happy  as  Tom's  affairs  will  let 
me  be.' 

*  Come,  let  me  take  you  to  the  Countess. 

Happiness  makes  young  mothers  beautiful.  Who  could  be  more 
beautiful  than  the  woman  who  rose  to  meet  me,  tossing  her  little 
boy  in  her  arms,  while  his  saucy  hands  pulled  and  tangled  her  hair 
rolled  back  from  her  forehead  ?  She  was  small  of  stature,  and 
possessed  bright  eyes,  and  such  a  quickness  of  expression  as  I  have 
never  since  seen  in  any  other  woman.  She  looked  at  me  so  curiously 
that  I  perceived  she  knew  something  of  what  had  passed  between 
my  lord  and  me.  Then  bhe  made  me  sit  down,  took  off  my  hood 
with  her  own  bands,  and  gave  me  a  cup  of  chocolate,  begging  me  to 
rest  after  my  ride  across  the  moor. 

*  And  where  is  Tom  ?'  asked  the  Earl. 

'  He  is  now  at  Blanchland,  where  he  much  desires  to  see  your 
lordship.    You  have  not  learned,  perhaps,  that  the  Scots  are  in  arms.' 

*  The  Scots  have  risen  ?'  he  cried,  with  change  of  colour.  '  This 
is  great  news  indeed !' 

'  The  Scots  have  risen  ?'  cried  the  Countess,  clasping  his  arm  with 
her  little  fingers.    '  This  is  good  news  indeed !' 

'  I  heard  it  from  some  gipsies,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard.  '  There  was  a 
hunting-party,  where  the  Prince  was  proclaimed  ;  and  they  are  said 
to  be  already  many  thousands  strong.  Mr.  Forster,  on  hearing  the 
news,  left  his  hiding-place  in  the  castle,  and  hath  ridden  to  Blanch- 
land,  where  he  desires  the  honour  of  a  conference  with  your  lordship.' 

*  I  will  ride  over  this  morning,'  said  the  Earl  thoughtfully. 

*  But  Dorothy  will  stay  with  me,'  said  his  wife  ;  '  we  will  have 
our  conference  while  you  have  yours.' 

He  left  us.  As  he  rode  away  with  Mr.  Hilyard,  he  met  outside 
the  castle  Mr.  Errington,  of  Beaufront,  to  whom  he  told  the  news, 
and  asked  for  counsel. 

*  My  lord,'  said  Mr.  Errington  gravely,  '  look  around  you.  To 
whom  do  all  these  fair  lands  belong  ?' 

*  Why,  truly,'  he  replied,  '  to  myself.' 

'  Then,  my  lord,  do  not,  I  charge  you,  risk  so  goodly  an  inheri^_ 
tance,  save  at  the  sure  and  certain  call  of  honour.' 

I  know  not  what  pa?^sed  between  him  and  Tom,  but  I  believe 
that  Tom  was  all  for  action  and  the  Earl  for  prudence.  Meanwhile, 
we  women  sat  conversing  of  the  children,  and  of  household  things, 
and  of  my  lord's  habits  and  tastes.  By  many  little  gentle  touches 
and  hints  the  Countess  made  me  feel  that  she  had  heard  of  me,  and 
how  once  her  husband  loved  me,  and  gave  me  to  understand  that  she 


WHAT  WILL  HE  DOf 


was  not  jealous  of  any  "woman,  because  she  knew  that  she  possessed 
his  whole  heart  (which  was,  indeed,  the  case,  yet  I  hope  I  should 
never  have  given  her  cause  for  the  least  jealousy). 

My  lord  came  back  the  same  day,  and  after  supper  we  had  a  long 
and  grave  discourse,  during  which  I  discovered  that  he  was  truly 
much  in  love  with  his  wife,  and  uneasy  at  the  mere  thought  of 
exposing  her  and  her  children  to  the  sorrow  and  unhappiness  which 
would  attend  a  failure ;  that  he  now  regarded  the  cause  of  the 
Prince  as  becomes  one  who  hath  so  great  a  stake  to  lose  ;  that  the 
Countess  was  far  more  eager  than  himself  (as  knowing  less  of  the 
danger)  ;  and  that  he  looked  upon  the  news  with  distrust  and  sus- 
picion. 

'  Let  us  wait,'  he  said,  *  for  the  English  people  to  give  their  voice. 
Without  the  will  of  the  people  the  Prince  can  never  return.' 

'  It  rests,'  said  the  Countess, '  with  the  natural  leaders  of  the  people 
to  guide  them.' 

My  lord  laughed  gently. 

'  My  dear,'  he  said,  '  a  Catholic  in  this  country  cannot  be  a  leader. 
Let  us  wait.  Now,  cousin,  tell  us  of  yourself  and  of  the  hearts  you 
have  broken  since  you  conquered  mine,  but  kindly  gave  it  back  to 
me  for  future  use/ 

The  news  of  the  Scottish  rising  made  the  Government  more 
anxious  than  ever  to  secure  the  leaders  of  the  plot  in  England. 
Therefore  Tom  was  quickly  warned  that  he  must  quit  Blanchland 
and  seek  safety  elsewhere.  First,  he  stayed  a  short  while  at  the 
house  of  Mr.  Patten,  the  Vicar  of  Allendale,  and  next — but  it  is  a 
tedious  task  to  tell  of  all  his  hiding-places  ;  for  wherever  he  went, 
presently,  by  some  treachery,  the  messengers  in  search  of  him  got 
upon  his  track,  and  he  had  to  change  his  quarters.  Mr.  John  Fen- 
wick,  of  Bywell,  kept  him  for  awhile,  and  here  he  would  certainly 
have  been  caught,  but  that  the  messenger  stayed  half  a  mile  from 
the  house  to  get  the  aid  of  a  constable,  so  that  Tom  had  just  time 
to  escape,  leaving  his  bed  warm,  so  to  speak.  This  Mr.  Fenwick 
was  expected  to  have  joined  the  rising,  but  hung  back,  no  doubt  to 
his  own  great  satisfaction,  when  he  found  how  things  were  going. 
For  this  I  neither  praise  nor  blame  him  ;  on  the  one  hand,  a  man  is 
right  to  hesitate  when  so  great  a  thing  as  his  estate  and  the  fortunes 
of  his  children  are  at  stake  ;  on  the  other,  he  ought  not  to  raise 
vain  expectations  in  the  minds  of  his  friends.  Had  all  gone  out 
who  were  expected  or  promised,  there  might  have  been  seen  a  dif- 
ferent ending. 

As  for  me,  I  remained  at  Dilston,  and  for  a  fortnight  more  vro 
expected  news,  but  heard  little.  Mr.  Hilyard  w^ent  backv/ards  and 
forwards  between  Newcastle  and  Hexham,  bringing  in  such  intelli- 
gence as  he  could  learn.  The  Scottish  rebels,  it  was  certain,  num- 
bered 12,000  men.  The  Prince  was  expected  daily  ;  they  wero 
masters  of  all  Fife,  with  the  seaboard  ;  Colonel  Oxbrough,  Captain 
Gaf.coigne,  and  Mr.  Talbot  had  arrived  at  Newcastle  to  stir  up  tbo 
uorth,  and  remind  loyal  gentlemen  of  their  pledges  ;  the  Whigs  at 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


Newcastle  were  bestirring  themselves  ;  men  were  looking  at  each 
other  and  expecting  a  civil  war  ;  but  London  was  reported  firm  for 
the  Protestant  Succession,  and  the  Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales 
every  day  going  without  fear  among  the  people.  And,  alas  !  Lady 
Crewe,  from  anxiety  for  her  nephew's  safety,  had  fallen  into  con- 
vulsions, or  fits  of  some  other  kind,  and  was  Ijdng  on  her  bed 
grievously  ill. 

I  think  it  was  about  the  28th  of  September  that  Charles  Radcliffe 
brought  us  the  news  of  the  warrant  issued  against  Lord  Derwent- 
water.  He  rode  all  the  way  from  London  to  warn  his  brother  ;  the 
messenger  charged  with  his  arrest  was  already  at  Durham. 

Why  ?'  asked  my  lord.  ^  What  have  I  done  that  they  should 
arrest  me  ?' 

'  You  are  the  Prince's  companion  and  a  cousin,'  replied  his 
brother.  '  Is  not  that  enough  ?  They  think  they  will  strike  the 
Prince  by  striking  yon.' 

'  Faith  !'  said  Lord  Derwentwater,  smiling.  *  They  know  not  his 
Highness  who  think  he  can  be  struck  through  another.' 

After  receiving  this  disquieting  intelligence,  my  lord  sat  for  a 
good  while  in  silence,  and  we  women  waited  patiently  to  hear  his 
conclusion.  Then  he  rose,  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the 
room  in  grave  thought.    We  sat  still  with  never  a  word. 

'  Wife,'  he  said,  at  last,  *  hast  thou  any  counsel  for  thy  husband  ?' 

She  shook  her  head  at  first.  But  he  kissed  her  tenderly,  and 
bade  her  speak  what  was  in  her  mind. 

'I  know,'  she  said,  taking  his  hand  and  kissing  it,  'your  great 
love  for  your  children  and  your  wife.  You  would  not  rashly  do 
aught  to  imperil  those  you  love.  This  I  know  full  well,  and  am 
thankful  therefor.  But — oh,  my  lord  ! — remember  the  days  when 
we  were  little  at  St.  Germain's,  and  you  were  a  page  of  the  Prince, 
and  I,  with  my  schoolfellows,  did  all  that  women  can — prayed  for 
him  daily.  Should  it  be  said  that  Lord  Derwentwater,  when  the 
chance  came  to  bring  the  King  to  his  own  again,  hung  back,  and 
left  to  others  the  honour  ?  Nay,  my  lord  ' — (she  threw  herself 
upon  his  neck) — '  I  know  :  it  is  thy  life,  as  well  as  thy  fortune, 
that  hangs  upon  this  chance.  Thy  life — oh,  my  dear  lord  !  my  dear 
lord  !  and  mine  with  it.' 

*  Sweetheart !' — my  lord  folded  her  tenderly  in  his  arms — *  were 
there  a  chance,  believe  me,  Derwentwater  would  be  the  first.  Yet, 
I  doubt — I  doubt  whether  the  chance  be  not  a  forlorn  hope.  It  is 
already  a  fortnight  and  more  since  we  had  tidings  of  the  insurrec- 
tion, and  as  yet  nothing  hath  been  done,  so  far  as  we  can  tell. 
Patience,  therefore.  Let  not  thy  quick  woman's  wit  jump  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  business  is  done  before  we  know  if  it  be  well 
begun.' 

Then  he  turned  to  me  and  said,  with  his  sweet  smile,  in  which 
present  friendship  was  combined  with  the  memory  of  the  past : 

'  Fair  Dorothy,  we  have  had  many  talks  in  the  former  time  over 
this  and  other  matters  :  give  me  thy  counsel.' 

*  Oh,  my  lord  !'  I  said,  moved  to  tears  by  the  sight  of  this  tender. 


IV/ZA  T  WILL  HE  DO  f 


191 


ness,  *wliat  have  I  to  say  whicli  her  ladyship  hath  not  ah^eady 
better  said  ?  Yet  I  pray  your  lordship  to  do  nothing  rashly,  and  to 
think  always  of  your  wife  and  tender  children.' 

And  at  that  moment  the  nurse  opened  the  door  and  brought  them 
in — two  little  creatures  with  fair  curling  locks  and  blue  eyes.  The 
elder,  who  could  walk,  broke  from  his  nurse's  arms  and  ran  across 
the  floor  with  outstretched  hands,  crying  to  his  father.  The  Earl 
caught  him  up  and  kissed  him  fondly.  When  he  set  the  boy  dovrn 
again,  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 

'  My  mind,'  he  said,  '  is  made  up.  I  am  to  be  arrested,  who  have 
no  knowledge  of  any  plot  at  all.    I  will  surrender.' 

He  looked  at  his  wife  ;  but  she  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  he  left 
the  room. 

*  He  will  surrender  !'  said  Charles.    *  What,  without  a  blow  ?' 

'  He  will  surrender,'  said  the  Countess,  'and  I,  who  looked  to  see 
him  riding  gallantly  at  the  head  of  his  regiment  ' 

I  have  since  that  day  often  considered  the  case.  I  think,  now, 
that  he  was  right.  For,  if  he  surrendered,  it  was  only  one  man  the 
less  (because  he  would  never  force  his  own  people  into  the  service)  ; 
and,  if  he  did  not  surrender,  he  would  have  to  become,  like  Tom,  a 
wanderer  and  fugitive,  until  he  was  forced,  as  Tom  was  forced,  into 
taking  up  arms. 

But  in  this,  as  in  everything  else,  fate  was  too  strong  for  him. 

He  repaired  that  same  day  to  the  house  of  Mr.  B  n,  J ustice  of 

the  Peace  (I  repress  his  name  for  pity,  because  his  repentance 
must  since  surely  have  been  as  great  as  his  fault  was  astonishing). 
This  magistrate,  after  hearing  what  his  lordship  had  to  say,  refused 
(illegally)  to  accept  his  surrender  (whereby  he  brought  my  lord  to 
his  death),  and  persuaded  him  to  return  to  his  own  house  again. 
This  my  lord  did  in  great  heaviness. 

'  The  stars,'  he  said,  '  in  their  courses  fight  against  me.  All  are 
of  one  mind.  They  say  my  death  is  sought.  They  will  not  suffer 
me  to  surrender.    What  next — ah  !  Dorothy,  what  next  ?' 

One  thing  was  certain,  that,  if  he  did  not  surrender  and  would 
not  be  caught,  he  must  go  into  hiding.  And  this  he  did.  And  for 
nearly  three  weeks  the  Earl  of  Derwentwater  became  a  fugitive, 
living  I  know  not  exactly  how  or  where,  but  in  hiding  always. 
And  for  us  who  remained  behind  there  was  nothing  left  but  to 
pray  and  to  hope.  If  we  women  were  Jacobites  before,  judge  what 
we  were  now,  when  all  our  hopes  depended  on  success  !  Charles 
stayed  with  us,  waiting.  He  was  full  of  courage  and  of  heart,  yet 
even  he  confessed  that  London  was  strong  for  the  Protestant  Suc- 
cession— but  London  would  come  round.  As  for  our  armies  !  They 
should  drive  King  George's  troops  before  them  like  cattle  ;  why. 
Lord  Mar  had  with  him  already  12,000  men,  and  still  they  came 
flocking  in — it  did  one  good,  at  such  a  time,  to  have  so  gallant  and 
brave  a  lad  as  Charles  Radcliffe  with  us. 

He  knew,  as  well,  that  the  three  secret  messengers  who  usually 
travelled  in  the  north  had  arrived  at  Newcastle,  viz.  :  Mr.  John 
Shafto  (who  was  afterwards  shot  at  Preston)  ;  Captain  Eobert 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


Talbot,  a  Roman  Catholic,  formerly  in  the  French  service  (he  waa 
executed  for  high  treason)  ;  and  Captain  John  Hunter  (hanged  at 
Liverpool).  With  them  were  Colonel  Oxbrough,  who  had  served 
under  King  James  II.  ;  the  two  Wogans,  Nicolas  and  Charles  ;  and 
Mr.  James  Talbot  (who  afterwards  escaped  from  Newgate,  but 
being  retaken  was  executed).  Other  messengers  there  were,  but  I 
forget  their  names. 

I  must  not  forget  that  one  day,  when  we  were  talking  about 
other  things,  I  asked  him  for  news  of  his  brother  Frank. 

He  shook  his  head. 

'  Frank,'  he  said,  *  is  troubled  with  a  grievous  cough,  which  keeps 
him  much  at  home.  Yet  would  he  have  ridden  with  me  north,  but 
was  prevented.^ 

He  then  went  on  to  tell  me  that  he  was  held  and  bound  captive 
by  love,  and  that  with  an  actress. 

'  She  was  in  his  lodging,'  he  said,  '  when  last  I  saw  Frank,  and 
sprang  at  me  like  a  tigress  when  I  asked  him  to  come  with  me. 
"  He  go  a- fighting  ?"  she  cried.  "  Never  !  for  any  Prince  or  King 
among  them  all.  Go  tell  my  lord  that  I  have  got  his  brother,  and 
am  keeping  him  safe."    Strange  !    Frank  is  bewitched.' 

I  thought  no  more  about  the  matter  at  the  time,  but  afterwards 
I  remembered  it. 

CHAPTER  XXiy. 

THE  MEETING  AT  GREENRlG. 

There  are  many  stories  told  of  Lord  Der  went  water's  hiding- 
places  ;  as,  for  instance,  that  he  was  obliged  to  conceal  himself  in 
the  Queen's  Cave,  where  Queen  Margaret  and  her  son  were  kept  in 
safety.  It  is  true  he  met  his  wife  in  Deepden,  because  it  is  a  retired 
spot  "not  likely  to  be  disturbed  :  indeed,  there  was  no  need  for  such 
hiding  in  caves,  for  he  had  made  by  his  benevolence  and  generosity 
friends  enough  among  his  tenants  and  the  poor  people,  who  would 
have  died  rather  than  give  him  up.  It  was,  however,  intolerable 
that  a  man  of  his  exalted  rank  should  be  in  hiding  at  all,  and  before 
long  there  began  to  be  spread  abroad  in  whisper  that  a  council  of 
some  kind  was  to  be  held. 

No  one  knew  whose  turn  might  come  next.  The  case  of  Lord 
Derwentwater  might  be  that  of  any  gentleman  in  the  county. 
When  the  meeting  was  held  at  which  action  was  resolved  upon, 
there  was  hardly  a  man  present  who  did  not  expect  his  own  arrest. 
It  was  at  a  place  called  Greenrig,  upon  the  open  moor,  near 
Sweethope  Lough.  Five  years  before  the  same  company  met 
together,  but  then  for  friendship  and  for  feasting.  Then  all  faces 
were  gay  ;  now  all  were  gloomy.  Even  with  those  who  were  young 
and  those  who  had  nothing  to  lose,  it  is  a  serious  thing  to  draw  the 
Bword.  My  lord's  eyes  were  anxious,  and  his  fore  Lead  lined  ;  Tom 
was  grave,  his  look  suspicious,  as  if  a  messenger  might  lurk  in 
every  clump  of  heather.  I  know  not  how  all  w(  re  called  together, 
but  there  caoae  Lord  Widdrington  ;  Sir  William  Swinburne  aa^ 


THE  MEETING  AT  GREEN  RIG, 


193 


two  brothers  ;  Mr.  Clavering,  of  Callalee  ;  Mr.  Fenwick,  of  Bywell  ; 
Mr.  Errington,  of  Beaufront ;  Mr.  Shaf to  ;  Mr.  Stokoe  ;  and  a  few 
others.  Charles  Radcliffe  was  there — we  all  knew  what  was  in  the 
heart  of  that  gallant  boy.  The  Countess  was  present,  her  cheek 
flushed  and  angry,  her  eyes  flashing.  There  came  with  Tom  (besides 
Mr.  Hilyard)  his  friend,  who  became  afterwards  his  chief  adviser  in 
the  field,  Colonel  Oxbrough,  whom  now  I  met  (for  the  Countesa 
and  I  rode  across  the  moor  with  Charles)  for  the  first  time.  I  may 
not  speak  of  the  dead  with  blame,  but  sure  and  certain  I  am  that  if 
Tom  had  not  fallen  in  with  this  gentleman  he  might  have  been  now 
lord  of  the  great  Bamborough  estates,  and  these  free  and  unen- 
cumbered, as  Lady  Crewe  intended.  Colonel  Oxbrough  was  born 
to  a  good  estate  (perhaps  he  ran  through  it  in  the  manner  common 
to  many  Irish  landlords)  :  he  served  under  King  James  :  he  was  a 
Catholic  :  in  manner,  he  was  unlike  any  of  the  other  Irishmen  en- 
gaged in  this  business,  not  loud  in  talk  and  hectoring  like  Captain 
Gascoigne,  nor  boastful  like  Captain  Wogan,  but  of  a  calm,  cold 
way  of  speech  which  had  more  effect  than  loud  and  boastful  talk  ; 
in  appearance  he  was  tall  and  thin,  with  bright  eyes,  aquiline  nose, 
and  firm  lips  :  in  manner  he  was  courtly,  and  in  demeanour  mild 
and  thoughtful,  always  showing  great  regard  to  the  opinions  of  the 
man  with  whom  he  conversed.  Yet  of  all  the  rebels,  this  man  was 
the  most  determined  ;  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  for  Ireland 
(for  he  cared  nothing  about  England  or  Scotland)  it  was  necessary 
that  the  King  should  be  a  Catholic  :  with  that  object  he  would  go 
to  the  death  willingly,  but,  further,  I  think  he  cared  little. 

The  servants  held  the  horses  at  a  convenient  distance,  and  the 
gentlemen  gathered  together,  some  lying  on  the  turf  and  some 
standing.  The  moor,  purple  with  heather  and  ling,  stretched  away 
on  every  side  ;  there  was  no  chance  of  interruption.  As  for  the 
Countess,  with  whom  I  came,  she  stood  beside  her  husband,  her 
hands  laid  upon  his  left  arm,  her  cheeks  flushed  and  angry,  her  eyes 
flashing,  gazing  into  his  face  as  if  she  would  read  his  thoughts.  As 
for  hers,  I  knew  them. 

Then  Lord  Derwentwater  spoke,  slowly  and  seriously.  No  one, 
he  said,  had  the  interests  of  the  Prince,  his  lawful  King  and 
Sovereign,  more  at  heart  than  himself.  This  was  so  well  known, 
that  a  warrant  was  issued,  as  they  all  knew,  for  his  arrest ;  no 
doubt  his  fate  was  determined  before  he  had  a  chance  of  striking 
a  blow.  He  desired  at  this  meeting  to  take  his  friends*  opinion 
whether  the  time  had  truly  arrived  for  rising  in  the  name  of  the 
Prince.  For  himself,  he  could  not  pretead  to  know  the  feeling  of 
the  country  ;  he  had  lived  in  it  but  five  years,  and  never  in  London 
at  all.  But  he  was  fully  assured,  he  said,  that  nothing  should  be 
attempted  in  England,  whatever  the  Scots  might  do,  until  it  was 
clear,  first,  that  the  voice  of  the  whole  country  was  in  favour  of 
the  Prince  ;  next,  that  a  rising  in  one  county  would  be  immediately 
followed  by  others  in  all  parts  ;  and  lastly,  that  the  temper  of  the 
army  and  the  fleet  should  be  favourable.  '  For,  gentlemen,'  he 
(Bontinued,  *  let  us  consider,  I  pray  you,  not  only  ourselves,  who 


194 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


have  a  stake  in  the  country  which  you  hazard  in  this  chance  and 
fortune  of  uncertain  war ;  not  only  our  own  lives,  which  the 
common  soldier  risks  for  sixpence  a  day,  and  every  sailor  who  goes 
afloat ;  but  also  our  wives  and  children,  who  will  be  ruined  with  us 
if  we  fail.  Remember  the  many  grievous  cases  after  the  late  un- 
happy Civil  War,  when  English  noblemen  and  gentlemen  were 
almost  begging  their  bread  in  France  and  the  Low  Countries.  Also 
let  us  consider  those  poor  faithful  creatures,  who  will  take  pike  and 
firelock  and  follow  our  fortunes.  Therefore,  I  say,  unless  the  way 
is  made  plain  to  me,  I  will  not  so  far  weaken  the  Prince's  cause  as 
to  throw  away  foolishly  my  fortune  and  my  life.' 

At  these  words  there  was  a  murmur  of  approbation  ;  but  the 
Countess  clutched  at  my  hand,  murmuring,  '  Oh  !  he  knows  not  his 
own  strength.  He  has  but  to  declare  himself  !'  Then  the  gentle- 
men looked  upon  each  other,  and  then  upon  Tom,  who  presently 
spoke.  What  he  said  was  simple  and  in  plain  words,  for  he  was  no 
speaker,  to  the  effect  that  his  own  part  and  share  in  the  design  was 
so  great,  and  his  name  so  fully  involved,  that  there  was  no  hope 
left  for  him,  save  in  the  success  of  the  undertaking  ;  that  he  was 
resolved  to  live  no  longer  the  life  of  a  fox  in  a  hole,  but  should, 
unless  something  was  determined  at  this  meeting,  ride  straightway 
across  the  Border  and  join  the  force  of  Lord  Mar.  As  regarded 
the  other  gentlemen,  each  knew  for  himself  how  far  he  had  gone, 
and  whether  it  was  safe  to  go  back  or  go  on,  and  he  should  not  say 
one  word  to  persuade  anyone  into  an  enterprise  which  might  lead 
to  fortune  or  might  lead  to  death.  Every  man  had  his  own  life  in 
his  hands,  and  sometimes  it  was  necessary  to  stake  that  life  in  the 
game.  And  so  on,  speaking,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  very  sensibly  and 
to  the  point,  concluding  by  saying  that  he,  for  one,  would  draw  and 
persuade  no  one  to  follow  him. 

'  He  is  not  a  man  of  books,'  whispered  Mr.  Hilyard  ;  *  but 
Demosthenes  could  not  have  pleaded  the  cause  of  the  Prince  more 
artfully.' 

Lord  Widdrington  followed .  I  knew  little  of  his  lordship,  except 
from  hearsay,  and  therefore  I  refrain  from  speaking  about  him. 
He  was  a  Catholic,  and  at  this  time  about  thirty-eight  or  forty 
years  of  age,  married  to  the  daughter  and  heiress  of  Sir  Thomas 
Tempest,  of  Stella  ;  he  was  also  the  grandson  of  Lord  Fairfax,  and 
therefore  a  cousin  of  my  own.  His  family  were  lords  of  Wid- 
drington even  in  the  reign  of  Henry  I. ;  one  of  them  was  killed  in 
an  engagement  with  G-eneral  Lilburne  during  the  Civil  Wars  ; 
another  fell  at  the  Battle  of  the  Boyne  ;  the  present  lord  is  brother- 
in-law  to  Lord  Langdale,  whom  his  sister  married,  and  to  Mr. 
Townley,  of  Townley,  who  joined  the  Rebellion,  but  was  acquitted. 
Other  connections  his  lordship  had  which  proved  fortunate  for  him 
in  the  end,  when  all  those  who  had  interest,  save  one  or  two, 
managed  to  get  a  pardon.  Lord  Widdrington  said,  briefly,  that  it 
was  clearly  the  duty  of  loyal  gentlemen  to  take  every  opportunity 
of  pressing  forward  the  cause  of  the  lawful  Sovereign,  and  that  he, 
for  one,  should  be  pleased  if  the  gentlemen  present  should  think 


THE  MEETING  AT  GREEN  RIG. 


^93 


the  time  opportune,  and  the  hope  of  success  so  reasonable  as  to 
justify  them  in  taking  up  arms.  'But,'  he  added  'I  applaud  the 
maxim  of  Lord  Derwentwater,  that  for  the  Prince's  friends  to  get 
killed,  and  their  property  confiscated,  would  be  a  poor  way  of  help- 
ing his  Highness.'    And  with  that  he  ended. 

Sir  William  Swinburne  spoke  next  to  the  same  effect  ;  and  then 
Colonel  Oxbrough,  seeing  that  no  other  gentleman  had  anything  to 
say,  took  off  his  hat  and  begged  to  be  allowed  speech.  He  said, 
speaking  without  any  passion,  and  in  a  low  voice  and  slowly,  that, 
in  his  serious  opinion,  the  times  were  never  more  ripe  for  action  ; 
that  since  the  death  of  the  late  Queen  men  had  been  looking  at  each 
other  in  wonder  that  nothing  was  done  ;  yet  he,  for  one,  would  be 
slow  to  accuse  the  loyalists  of  England  of  indifference,  since  he  was 
persuaded  that  nothing  was  wanting  except  a  leader  and  an  example. 
'  Why,  gentlemen,'  he  went  on,  '  here  is  before  our  eyes  an  example 
which  is  better  than  myriads  of  words.  The  Earl  of  Mar  began 
with  a  thousand  men,  and  hath  now  with  him  fully  twelve  thousand. 
His  army  is  like  a  ball  of  snow,  gathering  strength  as  it  rolls  on- 
ward. Do  you  wish  for  a  better  example  ?  Ireland  is  waiting  for 
the  signal ;  in  the  west  of  England  they  are  also  waiting  ;  Cumber- 
land and  Lancashire  are  full  of  loyal  men  ;  London  counts  thou- 
sands of  the  Prince's  friends  ;  his  Highness  is  even  now  preparing 
to  cross  over  and  take  the  field  in  person.  What  better  opportunity 
can  you  have  ?  What  more  can  j^ou  desire  ?  If  any  other  con- 
sideration were  wanting,  there  is  the  fact  that  you  are  all  very  well 
known  for  the  Prince's  friends.  What  private  promises  you  may 
each  have  made  I  know  not,  but  would  have  you  remember  that 
treachery  hath  already  been  at  work  ;  I  doubt  not  that  in  a  few 
days  you  will  be  secured  and  clapped  into  separate  prisons,  or  hurried 
away  to  London,  where  you  will  be  severally  examined,  and  none 
will  know  what  the  others  will  answer  ;  so  that  for  very  fear  of 
betraying  one  another  you  may  verily  do  it.  This,  gentlemen,  is  a 
disagreeable  thing  to  contemplate.  Yet  there  seems,  in  my  humble 
opinion,  only  one  way  to  prevent  it.^ 

Well,  still  they  looked  at  one  another,  for  no  one  would  be  the 
first  to  propose  so  grave  a  step.  Colonel  Oxbrough  stood  silent, 
with  grave  composed  look,  and  made  no  sign  of  impatience.  But 
then  the  Countess  herself  sprang  into  the  middle  of  the  circle,  and 
with  the  air  and  manner  of  a  queen,  flung  her  fan  upon  the  ground 
before  them  all,  crying,  '  Take  my  fan,  then,  gentlemen,  and  give 
me  your  swords  !' 

My  lord's  face  flushed  crimson,  as  he  picked  it  up  and  restored  it 
to  her. 

'  Gentlemen,'  he  said  quietly,  *  enough  talking.' 

He  took  off  his  hat,  and  drew  his  sword,  crying,  '  God  save  King 
James  !'  All  their  swords  flashed,  and  every  man  tossed  up  his  hat, 
crying,  *  God  save  King  James  !' 

'  Why,'  said  Colonel  Oxbrough  quietly,  *  I  knew  there  could  be 
but  one  end.  Madam  ' — he  bowed  low  to  the  Countess,  who  stood 
with  clasped  hands,  panting  breast,  flushed  cheek,  and  parted  lips 

13—2 


196 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


gazing  upon  her  husband — *  Madam,  as  it  was  said  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, so  shall  it  be  said  of  your  ladyship — "Dux  foemina  facti." ' 

Mr.  Hilyard,  who  stood  behind  me,  and  had  no  sword  to  draw, 
groaned  and  sighed,  but  nobody  heard  him  except  myself. 

*  Alas  !'  he  said,  whispering,  '  Colonel  Oxbrough  is  a  dangerous 
man  :  he  knows  that  with  many  the  surest  spur  to  courage  is  fear. 
That  is  why,  in  the  ancient  temples.  Fear  is  represented  and  painted 
with  a  lion's  head.  It  is  fear  which  drives  them  all.  His  honour 
is  afraid  because  he  knows  not  how  much  hath  been  reported  of  his 
sayings,  meetings  and  conspiracies  in  London ;  yet  sure  I  am  he 
would  have  done  better  to  give  himself  up,  and  so  have  obtained  a 
pardon  after  reasonable  delay.  As  is  Mr.  Forster,  so  are  the  other 
gentlemen,  who  are  all  afraid,  and  with  reason.  I  except  my  Lord 
Derwentwater,  who  would  have  had  us  wait — but  his  hand  was 
forced.    Pray  Heaven  there  be  hereafter  no  cause  for  repentance  !' 

After  the  shouting  there  was  much  talking  together  and  discus- 
sion, in  which  Lord  Derwentwater  took  little  part,  standing  silent 
and  contemplative.  "When  everyone  had  had  his  say,  mostly  in  a 
confused  babble,  there  was  silence,  and  Colonel  Oxbrough  was  heard 
recommending  or  suggesting.  At  last  all  was  resolved  upon.  On 
the  following  morning  they  were  all  to  repair  to  the  Greenrig  Burn, 
there  openly  to  band  together  in  the  name  of  King  James. 

So  they  parted  ;  Lord  Derwentwater  with  the  Countess,  Mr. 
Erilngton,  Sir  William  Swinburne  (it  was  lucky  for  Sir  William 
that  he  was  persuaded  by  his  lordship  to  go  home,  and  to  stay  there 
awhile),  his  two  brothers.  Lord  Widdrington  with  his  two  brothers, 
and  two  or  three  more,  rode  back  to  Dilston  ;  Tom,  flushed  and 
excited,  to  Blanchland,  with  the  rest  of  his  friends,  among  whom,  I 
forgot  to  mention,  was  Mr.  Patten. 

*  Sir,'  said  this  worthy  minister,  '  I  now  venture  to  ask  a  favour 
of  your  honour.' 

'  What  is  it  ?'  asked  Tom  ;  *  I  think  this  is  a  time  for  action,  not 
for  asking  favours.' 

*  It  is,  sir,  that  your  honour,  who,  I  hear,  will  receive  the  King's 
commission  to  command  his  Majesty's  forces  in  England,  will  be 
graciously  pleased  ' — here  he  bowed  down  to  the  ground  — '  to  confer 
upon  me,  unworthy  as  I  am,  the  office  of  chaplain  to  your  honour.' 

'Why,'  said  Tom,  '  if  that  be  all,  my  chaplain  shalt  thou  be.  And 
you,  Tony,  don't  look  glum.  Think  you  that  there  shall  be  no 
more  feasting  and  drinking  ?  Wait,  man,  till  we  have  got  the 
Prince  to  St.  James's,  and  then  will  we  make  a  night  of  it  !' 

'  At  such  a  juncture,'  said  Mr.  Patten  severely,  '  Mr.  Hilyard  can 
surely  think  of  something  besides  drinking  and  playing  the  fool.' 

'  I  think,  besides,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  of  Rehoboam  and  his  coun- 
fcellors.' 

'  Dare  you  maintain,  sir  ' 

'  Hark  ye,  sir  !'  Mr.  Hilyard  replied  ;  *  meddle  not  with  me,  chap- 
lain or  no  chaplain.  The  only  favour  I  ask  of  his  honour  is  that  I 
may  follow  him  and  serve  him  in  the  field  as  I  have  served  him  at 
home.  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  able  to  carry  a  musket  as  well  as  any 
ploughboy  in  the  ranks.' 


THE  MEETING  AT  GREENRIG. 


197 


*  You  to  fight !    Oh,  Mr.  Hilyard  !'  I  exclaimed. 

*Nay,  sister,'  said  Tom,  *  all  shall  go  who  will.  Yet  I  drag  none 
against  his  inclination.  Tony,  give  me  thy  hand,  honest  friend. 
Fight  beside  me,  or  stay  at  home  with  Dorothy,  as  thou  wilt.  If 
we  come  well  out  of  this,  old  friend,  of  which  I  make  no  doubt, 
thou  shalt  see  I  am  not  ungrateful.  My  poverty  thou  knowest,  but 
not  my  wish  to  reward  thee  for  all  these  years  of  service.' 

The  tears  came  into  Mr.  Hilyard's  eyes  ;  he  looked  as  if  he  would 
have  spoken,  but  refrained. 

They  had  a  merry  evening,  after  all,  with  shouting  enough  for 
the  whole  of  the  great  army  they  were  going  to  raise,  and  Mr.  Hil- 
yard singing  as  if  he  was  the  most  red-hot  J acobite  among  them  all. 
Perhaps  at  the  moment,  with  the  whisky  punch  before  him,  and 
amid  the  shouts  and  applause  of  his  friends,  he  thought  he  was. 

It  is  not  for  my  feeble  pen  to  write  a  history  of  the  events  which 
followed.  What  do  I  know  of  armies  and  of  battles  ?  I  stayed  at 
Blanchland  alone,  except  for  my  maid  and  the  rustics  of  that  retired 
place,  seeing  no  one  save  from  time  to  time  when  I  rode  across  the 
moor  to  Dilston,  and  learned  all  that  the  Countess  could  tell  me, 
which  was  little.  Had  we  been  able  to  look  into  the  future,  which 
is  mercifully  withheld  from  us,  we  should  have  been  wretched 
indeed.  Women  can  only  believe  what  they  are  told.  Did  not 
Colonel  Oxbrough  promise  a  general  rising  ?  We  were  strong  in 
hope,  having  little  fear  for  the  issue,  but  only  for  the  chances  of 
battle.  Victory  was  certain,  but  brave  men  must  die  before  the 
trumpets  of  the  victors  blow. 

In  the  morning  early  the  gentlemen  were  in  the  saddle. 

'  Courage,  Dorothy !'  said  Tom  ;  '  we  are  going  to  certain  victory. 
Farewell,  dear  lass.' 

So  he  bent  from  his  saddle  and  kissed  me,  and  then  clattered 
away  under  the  old  arch,  and  rode  off  gaily  with  his  friends.  The 
next  time  I  saw  Tom  he  was  again  with  his  friends,  but,  alas !  in 
dilferent  guise. 

The  last  to  go  was  Mr.  Hilyard,  equipped  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  with  a  musket  and  a  sword,  and  two  great  horse-pistols  stuck 
in  bis  holsters  ;  but  he  showed  little  confidence  in  these  weapons. 

*  So,  Miss  Dorothy,'  he  said,  *  I  go  a-fighting.  For  myself,  I  have 
little  stomach  for  the  sport.  I  think  we  be  all  fools  together. 
Heaven  send  us  safe  home  again !  Phew !  I  am  sick  already  of 
bullets,  as  well  as  of  marching  and  shouting.  Farewell,  sweet 
mistress.    Alas !  shall  I  ever  come  back  to  be  your  servant  again  ?' 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  FIRST  DAYS. 

Needs  must  that  I  say  somcAvhat  concerning  the  first  days  of  this 
unlucky  Pebellion,  because  many  things  foolish  and  false  have  been 
said  and  written  concerning  its  early  beginning.  And  first,  it  is 
most  true  that  not  one  gentleman  joined  (except,  perhaps,  the  Earl) 
who  was  not  possessed  beforehand  of  a  general  knowledge  (I  say 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


general,  not  full  and  particular)  of  the  design,  and  had  pledged  his 
honour  to  carry  it  out  when  called  upon.  Yet  nothing  was  decided 
upon  until  the  meeting,  wherefore  all  spoke  truth  in  saying  at  their 
trials  that  the  business  was  not  premeditated.  This  being  so,  I 
hope  that  no  one  will  repeat  the  idle  accusation  which  has  been 
brought  against  my  brother  that  he  drew  them  all  in.  In  truth, 
there  came  but  two  who  can  be  fairly  charged  upon  him.  One  of 
these  was  Mr.  Craster  of  Craster,  and  the  other  his  cousin,  Tom 
Forster,  afterwards  hanged  at  Liverpool.  Lastly,  I  declare  that  not 
one  among  them  all  would  have  moved  but  for  the  things  they  were 
told  by  the  secret  messengers,  such  as  Oxbrough,  Grascoigne,  and 
Talbot — I  mean  such  things  as  have  been  already  repeated  concern- 
ing the  temper  of  the  country.  Never  was  a  company  of  honourable 
gentlemen  (as  I  have  since  fully  learned)  so  vilely  deceived  and 
betrayed  to  their  own  destruction  as  these  unfortunate  gentlemen 
of  Northumberland.  Had  I  known  then  what  now  I  know,  I  would 
myself  have  stabbed  Colonel  Oxbrough  to  the  heart  with  my  scissors-. 
For  there  was  no  rising  in  the  West  of  England  at  all,  and  only  a 
riot  or  two  in  the  Midland  Counties ;  nor  any  rising  in  Ireland, 
where  most  we  expected  and  looked  for  one ;  and  as  for  the  great 
promises  which  we  had,  it  will  be  seen  presently  to  how  much  they 
amounted.  Yet  the  poor  gentleman  may  himself  have  been  deceived, 
and  in  the  end  he  met  his  death  with  great  fortitude. 

There  were  about  twenty  gentlemen  who  rode  out  with  Tom. 
They  were,  if  I  remember  rightly,  Mr.  William  Clavering,  of  Calla- 
lee,  and  his  brother  John ;  Mr.  George  Collingwood  ;  four  Shaftoes 
— namely,  Mr.  William  Shaf  to,  of  Bavington,  and  three  others  ;  Mr. 
George  Gibson ;  Dick  Stokoe ;  Mr.  George  Sanderson,  of  Highlee, 
and  Mr.  William  Sanderson ;  Mr.  Will  Charleton  the  younger,  of 
the  Tower ;  Mr.  John  Hunter ;  Mr.  William  Craster ;  my  cousin, 
Thomas  Forster ;  Mr.  Thomas  Lisle ;  Mr.  Thomas  Riddle  the 
younger,  of  Swinburne  Castle  ;  Mr.  J ohn  Crofts,  of  Wooler ;  Mr. 
John  Beaumont ;  Mr.  Robert  Cotton,  and  Mr.  John  Cotton,  his 
son.  With  them  rode  Mr.  Patten  and  Mr.  Hilyard,  the  former 
swelling  like  a  bishop  (as  he  already  thought  himself),  in  a  new 
cassock  and  great  wig,  and  the  latter  riding  last,  with  anxious  face. 
Some  of  them  rode  out  from  Blanchland,  but  most  came  from 
the  North. 

They  made  no  stay  at  Greenrig,  but,  thinking  the  place  incon- 
venient, they  rode  on  to  the  top  of  an  adjacent  hill,  called  the 
Waterfalls,  whence  they  presently  discerned  Lord  Derwentwater 
approaching  with  his  friends.  It  hath  been  reported,  and  I  have 
never  heard  to  the  contrary,  that  on  the  evening  before  he  left  the 
home  to  which  he  was  to  return  no  more,  and  in  the  grounds  of  his 
house,  the  Earl  met  a  ghost,  or  spirit,  who  spoke  to  him,  and  pro- 
mised (being  one  of  those  spirits  who  are  permitted  to  tell  the  truth 
with  intent  to  lead  astray)  that  he  should  never  fall  in  battle.  I 
know  not  how  this  may  be  :  I  saw  and  spoke  with  my  lord  but  once 
Again,  and  he  made  no  mention  of  this  circumstance.  But  I  am 
well  assured  that  all  night  long  his  favourite  dog  howled  and  cried ; 


THE  FIRST  DA  YS. 


199 


and,  when  he  mounted  his  horse  in  the  morning,  the  creature  reared 
and  backed,  and  could  not  be  persuaded  to  advance ;  which  makes 
me  think  that  a  friendly  spirit  barred  the  way,  as  was  done  unto 
Balaam  a  long  time  ago — only,  in  this  case,  the  angel  became  not 
visible  ;  and,  when  one  of  the  grooms  led  the  horse  forward,  he  fell 
to  trembling,  and  became  covered  with  sweat  and  foam.  Moreover, 
my  lord  found,  soon  after  starting,  that  the  ring  which  he  always 
wore  (it  had  been  his  grandmother's  gift  to  him)  was  lost  or  left 
behind.  In  spite  of  these  ill  omens  and  manifest  warnings,  he  bore 
himself  with  a  cheerful  countenance  ;  and,  if  he  had  misgivings, 
communicated  none  of  them  to  those  around  him,  who  were,  indeed, 
a  joyful  company,  laughing  and  racing  as  they  rode.  He  had  with 
him  his  brother  Charles  ;  Lord  Widdrington  and  his  two  brothers  ; 
Mr.  Edward  Howard,  brother  of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  ;  Mr.  Walter 
Tancred,  brother  of  Sir  Thomas  ;  Sir  William  Swinburne's  two 
brothers,  Ned  and  Charles  ;  Lord  Widdrington  s  brother-in-law, 
Mr.  Richard  Townley  ;  Mr.  Errington,  of  Beaufront ;  Mr.  Philip 
Hudson,  uncle  to  Lord  Widdrington  ;  and  one  or  two  others.  The 
numbers  of  the  gentlemen  thus  joined  together  amounted  in  all  to 
about  sixty  horsemen,  of  whom  twenty  were  servants.  This  was 
not,  to  be  sure,  a  large  force  with  which  to  take  the  field  against 
King  George's  armies.  But  they  expected  no  more  at  the  beginning, 
and  rode  north  that  day  to  Bothbury,  the  news  of  what  was  doing 
spreading  like  wildfire  through  the  country.  At  Rothbury  their 
numbers  were  much  increased  ;  though,  for  the  present,  they  would 
enlist  none  of  the  country  people,  only  bade  them  sit  down  and 
wait,  for  their  time  should  come  before  long.  Now  this,  Mr.  Hil- 
yard  hath  always  maintained,  was  their  first  and  capital  error  ;  for 
they  should  have  listed  all  who  came  that  were  able  to  carry  pike 
and  firelock,  and  not  to  have  refused  any.  Then,  whether  their 
army  were  well  or  ill-equipped,  the  fame  and  rumour  of  the  great 
numbers  flocking  to  them  would  have  been  spread  abroad,  and  so 
many  thousands  encouraged  to  enlist.  Besides,  those  who  would 
have  joined,  on  seeing  the  gallant  show  of  gentlemen  and  their 
mighty  following,  lost  heart,  or  became  cold,  when  they  had  passed 
by,  and  remembered  only  the  danger,  when  their  offers  to  join  might 
have  been  accepted  with  joy.  However,  this  was  only  one  of  the 
many  mistakes  made,  Colonel  Oxbrough,  the  principal  adviser,  being 
one  who  knew  not  the  country,  and  vainly  imagined  that  the  rustics 
of  Northumberland  are  as  hostile  to  the  Government,  and  as  full  of 
hatred,  as  are  the  wild  kernes  of  Ireland,  which  was  a  great  mistake 
to  make. 

Next  day,  being  Saturday,  the  7th  of  October,  they  marched  upon 
Warkworth ;  and  there,  at  the  gates  of  the  old  castle,  the  General 
(no  other  than  Tom),  wearing  a  mask — but  why,  I  know  not,  be- 
cause all  the  world  knew  him — proclaimed  King  James  III.  of  Great 
Britain.  It  was  done  with  trumpet  and  drum,  and  one  acting  as 
herald  (I  suspect,  Mr.  Hilyard  ;  but  he  hath  never  avowed  the  fact). 
On  the  next  day,  being  Sunday,  the  General  sent  orders  to  Mr.  Ion, 
vicar  of  the  parish,  that  he  should  pray  for  King  J ames  ;  and,  on 


200 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


his  refusing,  commanded  Mr.  Buxton,  Chaplain  of  the  Forces  (Mr, 
Patten  being,  as  it  were.  Domestic  Chaplain  to  the  General),  to  read 
the  service,  which  was  done,  and  a  very  stirring  sermon  was  preached, 
full  of  exhortations  to  be  manful  to  the  cause,  and  to  fight  valiantly. 
On  Monday,  the  10th,  they  rode  to  Morpeth,  and  there  received 
seventy  gentlemen  from  over  the  Border.  They  were  row  300 
strong,  and  all  gentlemen.  Had  they  taken  all  who  offered,  they 
might  have  been  3,000  strong.  Here  they  were  all  rejoiced  by  the 
news  that  Mr.  Launcelot  Errington,  with  half  a  dozen  companions, 
had  boldly  captured  the  castle  on  Holy  Island.  They  did  not  hold 
it  long  ;  but  it  is  by  such  feats  of  bravery  that  the  hearts  of  others 
are  uplifted.  If  they  could  keep  the  place,  they  could  signal  friends 
at  sea,  who  were  expected  daily,  with  supplies  of  arms  and  officers. 
At  Morpeth  they  again  proclaimed  the  Chevalier.  Here  they 
were  joined  by  a  good  many  other  gentlemen ;  but  still  they  re- 
fused the  common  people.  Now,  considering  that  foot  soldiers 
are  the  greatest  and  most  important  part  of  an  army,  it  seems 
madness  not  to  have  taken  them.  '  A  dozen  times,'  Mr.  Hilyard 
hath  said  since,  '  was  I  tempted  to  proffer  my  humble  counsel  to  the 
General ;  but  refrained,  seeing  that  I  was  the  lowest  of  the  gentle- 
men volunteers,  and  he  now  surrounded  by  noblemen  and  officers. 
Yet  I  would  to  Heaven  I  had  had  but  a  single  hour  with  him  alone 
over  a  pipe,  as  in  the  old  days,  when  he  would  honour  me  by  asking 
my  mind !' 

Another  dreadful  mistake,  though  one  which  was  afterwards 
pleaded  in  excuse,  was  that  the  gentlemen  did  not  bring  with  them 
every  man  that  could  be  raised.  Lord  Derwentwater,  for  example, 
could  have  raised  and  armed  well-nigh  a  thousand  men ;  yet  he 
brought  none  with  him,  except  half-a-dozen  servants. 

*  They  were  struck,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard  afterwards  in  London,  'with 
that  kind  of  madness,  in  virtue  of  which  men  do  nothing  right,  but 
see  everything  as  through  a  distorted  glass,  and  so  commit  one  fault 
after  another,  and  do  all  wrong.  It  is  not  a  phrensy,  ecstasy,  or  the 
fury  which  comes  from  love,  study,  or  religious  fury,  but  one  which 
deprives  the  reason  of  judgment,  the  body  being  sound  and  well ;  and 
is,  I  doubt  not,  a  demoniacal  possession,  permitted  for  high  purposes 
by  Heaven  itself,  against  which  we  ought  to  pray.  Who  but  mad- 
men would  have  refused  to  enlist  the  common  sort?  Who  but 
madmen  would  have  left  behind  them  their  own  people,  who  were 
an  army  ready  to  hand  ?  Who  but  such  would  have  gone  into  a 
campaign  without  arms,  ammunition,  ordnance,  provisions,  or  any 
thought  for  supplying  them  ?' 

Their  first  design  was  to  get  possession  of  Newcastle,  of  which 
town  they  had  great  hopes  ;  and  they  sent  Charles  Radcliffe  forward 
with  a  troop  of  horse  to  take  and  hold  Felton  Bridge,  which  was 
done  with  great  valour. 

And  here  they  met  with  their  first  disappointment,  expecting  that 
Newcastle  would  open  its  gates  to  them,  whereas,  on  the  contrary, 
the  gates  of  that  city  were  closed  tight,  and  the  citizens  and  keelmen 
armed,  and  the  friend?  of  the  Prince  had  to  lie  snug  and  quiet, 


THE  FIRST  DA  YS, 


20I 


There  is  no  donbt  that  they  were  promised  the  town  would  receive 
them,  and  a  great  accession  to  their  strength  it  would  have  been, 
being  strongly  fortified,  rich,  populous,  and  inhabited  by  a  sturdy 
and  valiant  race  of  men,  most  of  whom  would  have  followed  the 
rising  tide  of  success.  However,  this  failed,  and  on  the  18th  of 
October  the  town  was  occupied  by  General  Carpenter  with  Hotham's 
Eegiment  of  Foot,  and  Cobham's,  Molesworth  s,  and  Churchill's 
Dragoons.  Meantime,  therefore,  the  insurgents  withdrew  to  Hex- 
ham, where  they  stayed  three  days,  the  men  billeted  upon  the 
inhabitants,  but  all  well-behaved  and  among  friends,  though  the 
vicar  refused,  like  Mr.  Ion  of  Warkworth,  to  pray  for  King  James. 
Here  the  joyful  news  came  that  Lord  Kenmure,  with  the  Earls  of 
Nithsdale,  Carnwath,  and  Wintoun  had  taken  arms  in  the  south  of 
Scotland,  and  b"d  set  up  the  King's  standard  (worked  by  Lady 
Kenmm'e,  very  handsome  in  blue  silk,  with  white  pennants)  in  the 
town  of  Moffat.  After  a  little  marching  and  enlisting  they  crossed 
over  the  Cheviots,  Lord  Kenmure  commanding,  and  came  to  Roth  • 
bury,  whence  they  sent  a  message  to  G  eneral  Forster  to  know  his 
mind.  The  latter  replied  that  he  would  join  them,  and  accordingly 
the  English  forces  marched  north  and  joined  the  Scotch  ;  after 
which  they  crossed  the  Border  again  and  went  to  Kelso,  where,  on 
the  Sunday,  Mr.  Patten  preached  a  very  stirring  sermon  from  the 
text,  '  The  right  of  the  firstborn  is  his,'  handling  the  subject,  as  Mr. 
Hilyard  assures  me,  most  masterly. 

On  the  Monday  the  men  were  drawn  up  in  the  market-place, 
where,  the  colours  flying,  the  drums  beating,  and  the  bagpipes  play- 
ing, the  King  was  solemnly  proclaimed,  and  the  Earl  of  Mar's 
manifesto  read  aloud.  Their  army  consisted  now  of  about  1,500 
foot  and  700  horse,  to  oppose  whom  General  Carpenter  had  no  more 
than  900  men,  horse  and  foot,  and  these  raw  soldiers  for  the  most 
part.  There  were,  therefore,  two  courses  open  to  them — I  mean 
sensible  courses— either  they  might  march  northwards  and  attack 
the  Duke  of  Ai^gyll's  army  in  the  rear,  which  would  greatly  strengthen 
the  Earl  of  Mar  and  embolden  his  followers  ;  or  they  might  cross 
the  Border  again  and  fall  upon  General  Carpenter  before  he  got  any 
reinforcements.  Thus  would  they  strike  a  most  telling  blow,  and 
one  that  would  encourage  the  whole  party  in  England.  But,  alas ! 
counsels  were  divided  ;  there  were  jealousies  between  Scots  and 
English ;  the  Scottish  officers  refused  to  enter  England,  while  the 
English  would  not  enter  Scotland.  They  therefore  marched  with- 
out purpose  or  aim,  except,  as  it  seemed  to  friends  and  foes  alike, 
with  intent  to  escape  General  Carpenter,  along  the  northern  slopes 
of  the  Cheviots,  until  they  came  to  Langholm  in  Eskdale,  where  it 
was  resolved,  against  the  opinion  of  Lord  Derwentwater,  to  invado 
Lancashire,  most  of  the  gentlemen  believing  (on  the  faith  of  pro- 
mises and  the  assurances  of  the  Irish  officers)  that  in  this  Catholic 
county  20,000  men  would  rise  and  join  them.  The  sequel  shows 
how  much  reliance  oould  be  placed  on  these  assurances.  On  the 
way  south  a  good  many  of  the  Scots  deserted  and  went  home  ;  on 
P^mith  Fell  they  encountered,  being  then  about  1,700  strong,  the 


202 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


whole  body  of  militia,  called  together  and  arrayed  by  the  sheriff, 
armed  with  pitchforks,  pikes,  and  all  kinds  of  rustic  weapons.  They 
numbered  10,000,  but  at  sight  of  the  insurgents  they  turned  and  ran 
without  a  blow  being  struck.  It  was  a  bloodless  victory,  and  ought 
to  have  raised  the  spirits  of  our  men ;  but  it  did  not,  because  the 
leaders  were  already  dashed  (and  showed  it  in  their  bearing)  by  the 
smallness  of  their  numbers  and  their  own  dissensions.  The  only 
men  among  them  all,  Mr.  Hilyard  tells  me,  who  kept  their  cheerful- 
ness were  Charles  Radcliffe,  Colonel  Oxbrough,  whose  courage  and 
calmness  no  misfortunes  could  depress,  and  Mr.  Patten,  who,  until 
the  end  came,  could  not  believe  that  an  army  in  which  were  so  many 
noblemen  and  gentlemen  could  fail  to  be  victorious.  After  occupy- 
ing Appleby,  and  obtaining  a  good  number  of  horses,  also  saddles, 
firelocks,  and  other  useful  things,  they  were  joined  by  some  of  the 
Catholic  families  of  Lancashire,  together  with  a  few  Protestants  ; 
but  as  for  the  20,000  men  who  were  to  rally  round  them,  they  were 
nowhere  visible.  At  Appleby  about  500  Scotsmen  deserted  the 
camp,  and  marched  homewards  again,  selling  their  guns  as  they 
went  for  food.  Among  them  were  sixteen  or  seventeen  gentlemen 
of  Teviotdale,  who  liked  not  the  prospect.  I  would  to  Heaven  that 
every  man  had  deserted,  and  the  whole  army  had  melted  away ! 
From  Appleby  they  marched  to  Kendal,  where  Tom's  godmother, 
Mrs.  Bellingham,  was  living  ;  but  she  refused  to  see  her  godson, 
being  all  for  the  Protestant  Succession.  From  Kendal  they  made 
for  Lancaster,  which  they  entered  on  the  7th  of  November,  and 
there,  indeed,  they  expected  great  additions,  but  I  cannot  hear  that 
many  came  in.  They  stayed  at  Lancaster  for  three  days,  and  were 
hospitably  received  by  the  ladies,  who  dressed  themselves  in  their 
bravest,  and  invited  the  gentlemen  to  drink  tea  with  them.  On 
the  10th  of  November  they  reached  Preston — which  was  to  prove 
the  end  of  their  invasion.  Here  they  were  joined  by  nearly  a 
thousand  Catholics  and  their  followers.  And,  as  I  have  enumerated 
most  of  the  Northumberland  gentlemen,  let  me  also  set  down  some 
of  these  Lancashire  names  who,  to  their  honour,  were  so  loyal  to  their 
Prince.  They  were  Mr.  Richard  Chorley,  of  Chorley,  and  his  son 
Charles  (the  father  shot  at  Liverpool,  and  the  son  died  in  gaol)  ; 
Mr.  Ralph  Standish  (pardoned)  ;  Mr.  Francis  Anderton  (sdntenced, 
but  pardoned,  though  I  believe  he  lost  his  estate  of  £2,000  a  year)  ; 
Mr.  John  Dalton  and  Mr.  Edward  Tildesly  (both  pardoned)  ;  Mr. 
Richard  Butler,  of  Raclife  (died  in  Newgate),  and  Mr.  John  Beau- 
mont (escaped)  ;  Mr.  Hodgson,  of  Leighton  Hall ;  Mr.  Dalton,  of 
Thurnham  ;  Mr.  Hilton,  of  Cartmel ;  Mr.  Butler,  of  Rowcliff  ;  and 
others  whose  names  T  have  been  told,  but  have  forgotten.  I  must 
not  omit  the  unfortunate  Mr.  William  Paul,  clerk.  Master  of  Arts, 
of  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge.  This  poor  man,  the  Vicar  of 
Horton-on-the-Hill,  Leicestershire,  gave  up  his  living,  and  trudged 
north,  dressed  in  a  blue  coat,  laced  hat,  long  wig,  and  sword,  as  if 
he  was  a  layman,  to  join  the  army  (and  meet  an  ignominious  death, 
as  it  proved,  upon  the  scaffold),  and  all,  I  believe,  because  his  old 
friend  Tom  Forster,  who  was  kind  to  him  when  he  was  a  poor  scholar 


THE  FIRST  DA  YS. 


203 


of  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge,  was  General.  Hejnot  only  joined 
the  army,  but  he  did  excellent  service  in  bringing  news  of  General 
Carpenter's  strength  and  movements. 

At  Preston  great  hopes  were  raised,  so  many  coming  in,  whose 
rebellion  of  a  day  or  two  cost  them  dear.  Reports  were  brought 
from  Manchester  that  xhe  leading  people  in  the  town  were  well- 
disposed  towards  the  Prince.  Lord  Derwentwater  himself  went 
thither  secretly,  and  held  a  meeting  with  some  of  the  gentlemen 
there  in  order  to  arrange  for  a  rising,  but  I  have  not  heard  with 
what  success.  Then  it  was  expected  that  the  Duke  of  Ormond 
would  have  joined  them  with  at  least  3,000  men.  I  know  not,  nor 
have  ever  been  able  to  learn,  why  nothing  was  done  in  Ireland  or 
in  the  West  of  England.  Opportunities  lost  never  return,  and 
although  I  am  convinced  that  never  in  the  history  of  the  world 
were  gentlemen  more  deceived,  yet  I  cannot  understand  why,  the 
cause  itself  being  so  righteous,  the  end  was  not  more  successful. 
All  might  have  gone  well.  Alas  !  where  was  the  prudence  ?  The 
English  General  (my  poor  brother)  had  no  military  knowledge,  and, 
though  he  was  advised  by  Colonel  Oxbrough,  the  lords  and  gentle- 
men of  the  council  were  too  proud  to  be  led  by  him,  and  Tom  was 
not  strong  enough  to  command.  How  could  he  command  his  old 
friends  and  fellows  against  their  will  ? 

Meantime,  while  they  were  considering  whether  they  should 
advance  on  Liverpool,  General  Wills  had  joined  General  Carpenter, 
and  was  marching  on  Preston,  resolved  to  attack  the  rebels  with 
such  forces  as  he  had.  Look  now  !  King  George's  troops  were  but 
1,000  in  all,  or  1,200  at  the  most,  and  the  insurgents  had  nigh  upon 
3,000  !  Doth  it  not  make  one's  blood  boil  to  think  how,  being  more 
than  twice  their  enemy  in  number,  brave  men's  lives  were  thrown 
away,  and  a  righteous  cause  destroyed  ?  But  to  enumerate  the 
mistakes  made  by  our  people  makes  me  sure  that  the  blessing  of 
Heaven  was  withheld  from  the  very  first,  we  know  not  why,  and  it 
is  well  not  to  inquire  too  closely.  Weak  human  wit  cannot  discover 
why  the  Right  doth  not  always  triumph,  or  why,  for  the  sins  of 
princes,  the  people  should  be  punished. 

*  I  know  not,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  w^hat  was  said  and  proposed  at 
the  councils  of  war,  save  that  Mr.  Charles  Radcliffe  came  from 
them  always  in  a  rage,  and  the  Earl  hanging  his  head,  and  the 
General  troubled  and  perplexed.  I  tliink  that  if  Colonel  Oxbrough's 
advice  had  been  taken,  things  would  have  put  on  a  different  face. 
A  quiet  and  resolute  gentleman,  who  at  the  worst  never  showed  the 
least  resentment  when  his  advice  was  not  taken,  nor  any  indignation 
when  Scots  and  English  quarrelled,  nor  spoke  an  evil  word  against 
those  who  broke  their  promises,  but  took  all  as  part  of  the  day's 
work,  and  went  to  the  gallows  as  calmly  as  he  went  on  parade. 
This  it  is,  me  thinks,  to  be  a  soldier !' 


204 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 

MR.   HILYARD  RETURNS. 

Then,  from  the  day  of  Tom's  departure,  for  the  space  of  six  weeks, 
I  heard  nothing  save  when  I  rode  to  Dilston,  and  heard  what  my 
lord,  who  found  means  to  send  a  letter  every  week,  told  the 
Countess.  As  I  know  now  with  what  misgivings  he  entered  upon 
the  Rebellion  ;  how  quickly  he  perceived,  but  could  not  remedy, 
the  errors  committed  during  its  conduct ;  and  how  there  fell  upon 
him,  very  soon  after  the  beginning,  a  heaviness  and  despondency 
which  grew  daily  deeper — ah  !  noble  heart ! — I  have  never  ceased 
to  wonder  how  he  could  sustain  the  pretence  of  light  heart,  hope, 
and  cheerfulness  which  he  presented  in  those  beautiful  letters  of 
his.  There  was  nothing — no,  not  one  word — in  them  which  might 
lead  his  wife  to  suppose  that  all  was  not  going  well.  They  were 
on  the  Border  ;  they  were  with  Lord  Kenmure  and  the  Scots ;  they 
were  already  so  many  strong  ;  they  were  coming  back,  and  would 
gather  in  the  recruits  so  freely  offered  at  the  outset ;  they  would 
soon  be  20,000  strong — with  more  to  the  same  effect,  and  the  whole 
so  set  and  ornamented  with  terms  of  endearment  for  his  Avif e,  and 
of  tender  messages  of  love  to  the  innocent  children,  that  the  heart 
of  her  who  read  them  was  led  aside  from  the  contemplation  of  the 
danger  to  think  only  of  the  honour  and  glory  of  the  expedition. 

*  That  my  lord  should  be  foremost,'  said  the  fond  wife,  '  in  bring- 
ing the  Prince  to  his  own  is  not  wonderful ;  nay,  it  is  his  duty. 
But  it  surprises  me  that  the  gentlemen  of  England  have  not  long 
ago  resolved  to  accomplish  so  easy  a  task.  Why,  it  will  be  but  a 
ride  through  the  country,  from  Northumberland  to  London.' 

It  was,  truly,  to  end  in  a  ride  through  the  country  ;  but  not  such 
a  ride  as  her  ladyship  pictnred  to  herself. 

Then  we  pleased  ourselves  in  wondering  how  the  Prince  would 
be  received  by  London  ;  when  the  coronation  would  take  place  ;  by 
what  safeguards  and  concessions  the  liberties  of  the  Church  of 
England  would  be  secured  ;  how  great  a  thing  it  would  be  once 
more  to  have  a  Court,  with  a  young  King  and  Queen  (but  a  wife 
must  be  found  for  his  Majesty,  and  who  should  she  be  ?),  to  which 
Catholic  gentlefolk  might  resort ;  and  how  charming,  after  the  quiet 
country  life,  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the  town — with  many  other 
speculations  equally  pleasant  and  profitable. 

In  those  days  the  Countess  talked  with  me  a  great  deal  concerning 
her  childhood,  when  first  she  made  the  acquaintance  of  her  future 
lord.  They  were  together  at  St.  Germain's,  she  being  in  the 
Ursuline  Convent,  with  one  or  two  of  her  sisters  (she  was  the 
eldest  of  five  daughters),  and  he  a  page  and  companion  of  the 
Prince.  The  English  children  at  St.  Germain's  had  more  liberty 
than,  it  seems,  is  accorded  to  the  French,  and  they  all  knew  each 
other. 

*  My  dear,'  she  said,  in  her  quick  and  candid  manner  of  speech, 
'I  blush  not  to  own  that  I  loved  him  from  the  first,  when  he  was 


MR,  HIL  YARD  RETURNS. 


205 


only  a  beautiful  boy,  dressed  up  like  a  soldier  to  please  the  Prince, 
with  his  brown  hair  in  a  ribbon,  and  a  little  sword  by  his  side  ;  I 
loved  him  then,  and  I  have  loved  him  ever  since,  though  little  did 
I  think  I  should  ever  get  my  heart's  desire.  For  supposing  we 
played  together,  and  were  friends,  he  would  go  away  and  forget 
me  ;  or  he  would  meet  with  more  beautiful  women,  and  fall  in  love 
with  them  ;  or  with  flattering  and  designing  women,  who  would 
want  his  wealth  and  rank — I  care  nothing  about  either.  Heaven 
knows,  and  would  love  him  just  as  much  if  he  were  a  simple  gen- 
tleman like  his  cousins  of  the  county.  Why,  as  for  love,  did  he  not 
fall  in  love  with  you,  who  would  have  none  of  him  for  religion's 
sake  ?  Ah  !' — here  she  sighed — '  'tis  well  I  was  not  so  tempted. 
Religion  and  all  I  think  I  would  have  thrown  away  for  his  dear 
sake.  Yet  how  he  should  love  me  after  your  lovely  face.  Cousin 
Dorothy,  passeth  my  understanding.  Well,  as  for  what  is  before,  I 
know  not,  but  pray  for  the  best,  and  am  thankful  that  we  have  had 
three  years  of  happiness,  although  I  have  sometimes  vexed  him  with 
my  tongue,  which  at  times,  alas  !  is  sharp.  Yet  he  hath  never  re- 
proached me  with  this  my  infirmity,  knowing  that  afterwards  I 
still  repent  and  am  sorry.' 

She  had  many  admirable  qualities,  not  the  least  of  them  being 
that  she  was  wise  enough  to  know  how  good  and  great  a  man  was 
her  husband.  Some  women  there  are  who,  if  a  man  love  them, 
cannot,  perhaps  for  that  very  reason  (knowing  how  small  they  are 
compared  with  him),  believe  that  he  can  be  in  any  way  great.  It 
is  as  much  as  to  say  that  the  man  who  loves  a  foolish  woman  must 
be  himself  a  fool.  Such  women  know  not  what  now  I  know,  and 
am  glad  to  know,  because  it  makes  me  understand  many  things  ; 
namely,  that  no  man  doth  love  a  foolish  woman,  but  rather  the 
divine  and  perfect  image  of  a  woman  which  he  pictures  to  himself, 
instead  of  the  real  woman.  Not  that  the  Countess  was  a  foolish 
woman  at  all,  but  quite  the  contrary,  being,  in  every  respect  but 
one,  wise  and  prudent.  She  checked  her  husband's  profusion 
(which  was  his  only  fault)  ;  she  set  bounds  to  his  generosity  in  the 
matter  of  giving  money  constantly  to  his  brother  Charles,  who  was 
always  wanting  more  ;  she  possessed  great  dignity  of  carriage, 
although  little  of  stature  ;  and  she  was  only  foolish  where  all  the 
other  women  of  her  party  are  foolish,  in  thinking  that  because 
loyalty  is  a  righteous  and  good  thing,  the  Prince's  cause  would  be 
easily  won.  Therefore  she  could  not  brook  the  shilly-shally  delays 
of  the  gentlemen,  and  long  before  arms  were  resolved  upon  was 
impatient.  Id  this  I  blamed  her  not  then,  nor  do  I  blame  her  now  ; 
because  we  only  believed  what  we  were  told  to  believe,  and  could 
not  know — which  we  had  not  been  told — the  true  strength  of  the 
feeling  among  all  classes  as  regards  a  Protestant  succession.  In 
Northumberland  one  had  at  least  the  advantage  of  knowing  that  a 
man  may  be  a  Papist,  and  yet  may  adorn  himself  with  as  many 
personal  graces  and  virtues  as  any  Protestant  among  us  all.  Where 
could  be  found  a  man  of  more  unblemished  life,  more  universal 
benevolence,  greater  simplicity,  temperance,  modesty,  and*  honour 


2o6  •  DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


than  Lord  Derwentwater  himself  ?  Therefore,  I  say,  I  blame  not 
the  Countess  for  her  zeal,  though  it  precipitated  the  ruin  of  her 
house.  Nay,  I  was  as  zealous  as  herself,  and  thought  the  throwing 
down  of  her  fan  a  fine  and  courageous  action. 

Let  me  say  nothing  but  what  is  good  of  this  unhappy  woman, 
whose  afflictions  were  greater  than  she  could  bear.  Why  I,  who 
never  ceased  to  love  Lord  Derwentwater,  nor  ever  shall,  and  am 
not  ashamed  to  own  it,  have  long  confessed  to  myself,  that,  with 
my  rustic  ways,  I  could  never  have  hoped  to  fix  his  affections  after 
the  first  strong  tide  of  passion,  and  to  keep  them  for  life  as  this 
clever  quick-witted  creature,  as  changeable  in  her  moods  as  the  sky 
in  June,  and  as  sweet  to  look  upon. 

It  is  now  sixteen  years  since  she  died,  and  was  buried  among  the 
English  nuns  at  Louvain  ;  but  her  spirit  hath  returned  to  England, 
and  wanders  sadly  at  night  among  the  woods  and  ruined  gardens  at 
Dilston.  Alas !  that  one  born  to  be  so  happy  should  die  so 
wretched. 

Enough,  for  this  time,  of  the  talk  and  thoughts  of  two  fond 
women.  We  waited  thus  :  I  at  Blanchland,  and  the  Countess  at 
Dilston,  with  none'  about  her  but  old  men  and  women-servants, 
from  the  6th  of  October  to  the  15th  of  November. 

On  the  evening  of  that  day  (which  was  Wednesday)  I  was  sitting 
beside  the  fire,  a  book  in  my  hand,  but  my  thoughts  far  away. 
Certain  prognostics  of  the  disaster  were  already  in  my  mind, 
though,  as  always  happens,  I  thought  little  of  them  until  later ; 
that  is  to  say,  my  sleep  had  been  disturbed  the  night  before  by 
dreadful  and  disquieting  dreams,  but  when  I  awoke  in  the  morning 
there  was  left  nothing  but  a  confused  image  as  of  some  horrid 
monster.  Thus  the  messenger  of  Heaven  came  to  warn  Nebuchad- 
nezzar, but  he  forgot  in  the  morning  everything,  save  that  a  strange 
and  terrible  dream  had  come  to  him.  Thus,  all  day  long,  strange 
sounds  disquieted  me.  There  were  omens  of  bad  luck,  such  as  salt- 
spilling,  hearing  unlucky  words  early  in  the  morning,  and  so  forth, 
which  I  afterwards  remembered.  On  Sunday,  I  had  a  strange 
roaring  sound  in  my  ears  (which  may  h?.ve  bee  a  the  noise  of  the 
cannonade  at  Preston,  but  I  hardly  think  that  possible).  On  the 
same  day,  I  opened  the  Bible  at  haphazard,  and  lighted  on  these 
terrifying  words  in  the  Book  of  Psalms,  Avhich  manifestly  referred 
to  the  overthrow  of  those  who  were  doing  the  Lord's  work  for  the 
rightful  Sovereign  :  *  The  zeal  of  thine  house  hath  even  eaten  me, 
and  the  rebukes  of  them  that  rebuked  thee  hath  fallen  upon  nle.* 
On  Monday  and  Tuesday  I  was  agitated  by  strange  terrors,  and  on 
Wednesday  morning  these  returned  to  me  in  greater  force.  In  the 
evening,  the  house  then  being  quiet  and  the  maids  gone  to  bed,  I 
sat  thinking  about  many  things  ;  and  first,  as  we  are  all  selfish 
creatures,  of  my  hard  lot  in  losing  the  only  man  I  could  ever  love, 
and  the  melancholy  lives  of  women  who  miss  the  happiness  of 
husband  and  children  ;  next  of  the  strange  and  tragical  fate  which 
still  seemed  to  pursue  the  Forsters  of  Bamborough,  so  that  my 
brother  Tom,  the  last  man  of  the  race  (not  counting  poor  rustic 


MR,  HILYARD  RETURNS, 


207 


Jack),  was  now  a  fugitive  and  a  rebel  who  would  be  exiled,  or 
worse,  should  the  enterprise  fail.  Surely,  I  thought,  it  was  time 
for  a  change  in  fortune  ;  the  triumph  of  the  business  in  hand 
would  bring  us  dignities  and  rank  once  more.  Next,  I  remembered 
the  grievous  illness  of  Lady  Crewe,  of  the  issue  of  which  I  had  no 
knowledge.    Here  was  food  enough  for  sad  thoughts. 

Now,  while  I  sat,  I  became  aware  of  footsteps  outside,  and  there 
was  a  gentle  knock  at  the  window.  I  was  never  greatly  afraid  of 
robbers  and  such  as  break  into  houses,  therefore  I  hastened  to  take 
a  candle,  and  presently  unlocked  the  door  and  looked  out.  It  had 
been  snowing  all  day,  and  the  drifts  lay  deep  in  the  old  quadrangle. 
There  was  no  one  in  the  porch. 

'  Who  is  there?'  I  cried  loudly. 

*  Thank  Heaven  !'  replied  a  voice  I  knew  full  well.  *  It  is  Miss 
Dorothy.' 

There  stood  before  me  Mr.  Hilyard  himself. 

*  Who  is  within,'  he  asked,  '  besides  yourself  ?' 

I  told  him  no  one  except  the  maids,  and  they  were  all  abed,  for  it 
was  past  nine  already. 

Still  he  hesitated,  hanging  his  head,  till  I  bade  him  sharply  shake 
off  the  snow  from  his  coat  and  come  in.  Cold  as  it  was,  he  had  no 
cloak  or  muffler.  He  obeyed,  and  with  a  trembling  hand  quickly 
shut  and  barred  the  door  behind  him. 

Then  I  knew,  indeed,  that  something  dreadful  had  happened,  and 
thought  of  all  the  forebodings  and  omens  of  the  last  few  days. 

He  followed  me  into  the  kitchen,  where  there  was  still  a  good 
fire  burning.  Here  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  and  looked  at  me 
with  white  face  and  quivering  lips. 

*  Miss  Dorothy,'  he  began,  but  burst  into  sobbing  and  crying. 

*  Where  is  my  brother  Tom  ?'  I  cried.    *  Is  he  killed  ?' 

*  No,'  he  replied.  '  No  ;  he  is  not  dead.  Better,  perhaps,  if  he 
had  been  killed  in  battle.' 

*  Where  is  my  lord  ?    Is  he  dead  ?' 

*  No  ;  he  is  not  dead.' 

He  was  so  white  in  the  cheeks  and  trembled  so  much  in  every 
limb  that  I  feared  he  was  going  to  swoon. 
'  Are  you  in  want  of  food  ?'  I  asked  him. 

*  I  had  some  bread  last  night,'  he  said.  '  Since  then  I  have  eaten 
nothing.' 

*  Since  Tom  and  Lord  Derwentwater  are  alive,'  I  said,  ^  tell  me 
no  more  till  you  have  eaten.' 

When  he  had  devoured  some  bread  and  meat  and  taken  a  good 
draught  of  ale,  he  stood  up  and  said  solemnly  a  grace  after  meat. 

*  Never  yet  had  I  felt  till  to  day  the  force  of  the  prayer,  Give 
us  this  day  our  daily  bread."  Alas  !  what  pangs  are  endured  by 
those  who  starve  !  Save  a  little  bread,  finished  last  night,  have  I 
tasted  nothing  since  I  escaped  from  Preston  on  Monday  evening.' 

*  How  ?    Escaped  ?' 

*  Miss  Dorothy  '—his  eyes  filled  with  tears — *  alas !  my  kind  sweet 
mistress,  be  brave,  for  the  worst  hath  happened.    His  honour, 


208 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


General  Forster,  Lord  Derwentwater,  Lord  Widdrington,  all  the 
other  gentlemen,  and  the  whole  of  the  insurgent  army,  have  surren- 
dered, and  are  prisoners  of  Greneral  Willes.  The  Rebellion,  unless 
the  Scots  fare  better  than  the  English,  is  at  an  end.  As  for  his 
Highness,  who  hath  brought  us  to  this  strait,  I  wish  to  Heaven  he 
were  a  prisoner  as  well !' 

*  Prisoners  ?    Tell  me  more.' 

'  I  will  tell  you,'  he  said,  '  from  the  beginning,  that  is  from  last 
Saturday.  We  were  at  Preston,  and  in  higher  spirits  than  we  had 
been  for  some  time,  having  received  a  great  accession  of  the  Catholic 
gentlemen  of  Lancashire,  and  their  followers.  I  pretend  not  to 
know  what  was  the  Greneral's  purpose,  but  it  was  understood 
amongst  us  that  we  were  to  march  on  Saturday  morning  upon 
Manchester,  his  honour  being  assured  that  none  of  the  enemy  were 
within  forty  miles.  You  may  judge,  therefore,  of  our  astonishment 
when  we  received  orders  to  prepare  for  action,  for  General  Willes 
was  upon  us,  in  what  force  and  whether  provided  with  cannon  we 
knew  not,  so  badly  were  we  served  by  our  messengers.  And  yet  I 
am  informed  by  Mr.  Patten,  who  hath  had  the  ear  of  his  honour 
throughout,  that  he  spared  neither  pains  nor  cost  to  be  acquainted 
with  all  the  movements  of  General  Carpenter,  knowing  nothing  of 
General  Willes,  who  was  marching  upon  us  from  Wigan,  having 
with  him,  some  say,  less  than  a  thousand  men,  but  I  know  not  what 
his  numbers  may  have  been.  He  was  so  close  to  the  town,  that 
when  the  General  rode  out  beyond  the  bridge  with  a  party  of  horse 
he  discovered  the  vanguard  of  the  Dragoons,  and  had  to  ride  back 
hastily.  And  then — 1  know  not  how,  save  by  some  judicial  blind- 
ness sent  by  Heaven — oh  !  had  I  been  of  the  council !  There  is  a 
passage  in  Livy — but  let  that  pass.  Sufln.ce  it  that  the  greatest,  the 
most  fatal  mistake  was  made— oh  !  how  could  it  escape  them  all  ?* 

I  asked  who  made  the  mistake. 

'  His  honour  himself.  That  is  to  say,  none  but  the  General  can 
be  praised  or  blamed  for  the  conduct  of  a  campaign  ;  but  yet  I 
know,  having  heard  it  for  a  truth  from  Mr.  Patten,  who  hath  been 
mighty  civil  to  me  since  we  started,  that  in  every  operation  his 
honour  has  been  first  guided  and  directed  by  Colonel  Oxbrough, 
and  then  thwarted  by  gentlemen  who  shall  be  nameless.  I  cannot 
doubt  that  in  the  matter  of  the  bridge,  he— that  is,  Colonel  Ox- 
brough—was  overruled  ;  nor  can  I  believe  that  a  man  who  has 
studied  campaigns  and  been  on  active  service  could  have  neglected 
so  simple  an  advantage.  Know  then.  Miss  Dorothy,  that  before 
the  town  there  runs  a  deep  river  which  must  be  forded  ;  over  the 
river  a  bridge  ;  and  this  side  the  bridge  a  deep  and  narrow  lane  :  it 
is  like  the  Pass  of  Thermopylae  ;  it  may  be  defended  by  a  hundred 
men  against  an  army — nay,  by  means  of  this  pass  we  might  have 
destroyed  all  the  force  that  General  Willes  had  been  able  to  bring 
against  us.  Yet  we  neglected  to  defend  this  bridge.  Some  say  the 
Brigadier  Macintosh  refused  to  obey  the  General  ;  I  know  not  if  it 
be  true  ;  certainly  there  is  no  love  between  the  Scotch  and  the 
English  officers.    It  matters  not  by  whose  fault ;  tbe  bridge  was 


MR,  HILYARD  RETURNS. 


209 


left  undefended,  and  the  enemy  crossed  over  at  their  ease,  and  so 
came  up  to  the  town  and  prepared  for  an  attack.' 
He  stopped  and  sighed. 

'  I  never  thought,'  he  went  on,  Hhat  I,  a  plain  Oxford  scholar,  a 
man  of  peace,  and  of  obscure  birth,  should  take  my  part  in  a  battle, 
fighting  among  gentlemen  ;  nor  did  I  look  to  feel  the  madness  of 
Mars  in  my  blood.  Yet  this  day  shall  I  never  forget,  nor  the  "  joy 
of  battle  "  spoken  of  by  Homer,  and  now  understood  by  me.  We 
formed  four  chief  barricadoes,  or  barriers,  behind  which  we  received 
the  enemy.  As  for  me,  I  had  the  honour  to  be  placed  among  the 
gentlemen  volunteers  who  defended  the  barrier  below  the  church, 
under  Brigadier  Macintosh.  We  were  commanded  by  the  Lords 
Derwentwater,  Kenmure,  Wintoun,  and  Nithsdale.  As  for  my  lord 
and  his  brother,  Mr.  Charles,  I  dare  maintain  that  they  set  an 
example  to  all  of  us  of  coui^age  and  coolness  under  fire,  being 
stripped  to  the  waistcoat,  and  encouraging  the  men  to  work  at  the 
barriers  and  to  give  a  warm  reception  to  the  enemy.  A  warm  re- 
ception we  gave  them,  indeed,  and  killed,  I  believe,  as  many  as  120 
of  them  at  the  first  attack.  The  battle  lasted  from  three  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon  till  long  into  the  night.  Twice  I  saw  the  General — 
Mr.  Tom,  I  mean  — riding  up  to  the  barricado,  encouraging  us  to 
stand  firm  and  fire  with  precision,  freely  exposing  himself  to  the 
enemy's  fire.  When  the  night  fell  the  enemy  set  fire  to  two  or 
three  houses,  partly  with  the  design  to  burn  down  the  whole  town, 
and  partly  to  terrify  and  dislodge  us,  and  had  there  been  the  least 
wind,  no  doubt  their  horrid  project  had  succeeded.  At  midnight 
the  enemy  withdrew,  leaving  300  and  more  dead  upon  the  field, 
while  we  for  our  part  had  lost  but  17  killed  and  about  40  wounded. 
As  for  me,  I  had  never  a  scratch.  Yet,  in  spite  of  this  signal  ad- 
vantage, and  the  joy  of  our  men,  you  shall  hear  how  we  were  all 
presently  undone.' 

He  stopped  and  fetched  another  sigh. 

*  Undone,  did  I  say  ?  Yea  ;  ruined  and  lost  beyond  hope.  Yet 
we  were  3,000  strong,  and  fellows  as  stout  as  a  general  would  wish 
to  command. 

*  All  that  night  the  houses  blazed  and  fell,  one  by  one,  with  a 
most  dreadful  roaring  of  flames,  and  I  think  that  few  of  us  got 
much  sleep.  For  my  own  part  I  sat,  firelock  in  hand,  behind  our 
barrier,  wishing  that  the  morning  would  come,  and  longing  to  be  at 
'em  again.  This  I  say  not  with  boastfulness,  but  to  show  how 
quickly  even  a  man  of  peace  may  become  a  man  of  war.  Yet  is  the 
man  of  peace  a  madman  thus  to  follow  the  drum.  It  hath  been 
truly  said  by  Seneca  in  his  book  ' 

'  Never  mind  Seneca,  Mr.  Hilyard.  For  Heaven's  sake  go  on 
with  the  story.    What  happened  next  ?' 

'  Since  you  know  that  we  were  all  taken  prisoners,  you  know, 
Miss  Dorothy,  pretty  nearly  as  much  as  I  know  myself.  For,  of  a 
truth,  I  cannot  tell  with  certainty  why  we  laid  down  our  arms.  We 
took  a  few  prisoners,  and  from  one  of  them,  an  officer,  I  learned  the 
strength  of  the  enemy,  and  that  General  Carpenter  was  marching 

14 


2IO 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


upon  us,  having  with  him  three  regiments  of  Dragoons.  But  still 
we  should  greatly  outnumber  them.  "  Gentlemen, "  cried  one  of 
the  prisoners,  as  he  was  led  through  our  ranks,  "  I  am  your  prisoner 
to-day,  but  you  will  all  be  ours  to-morrow."  At  which  some  of  us 
laughed,  but  I,  thinking  how  the  bridge  had  been  neglected,  began 
to  consider  seriously  what  this  might  mean.  I  say  again  that  I 
blame  not  his  honour.  Neither  as  man  nor  boy  hath  he  ever  cared 
for  things  military,  to  study  the  conduct  of  a  siege  nor  the  history 
of  a  campaign.  But  I  marvel  that  Colonel  Oxbrough,  who  should 
have  known  better,  or  that  Lord  Widdrington,  who  should  have 
been  made  to  hold  his  tongue,  or  that  Brigadier  Macintosh — but, 
indeed,  there  is  small  profit  in  wondering. 

'  Now,  in  the  morning,  when  we  expected,  although  it  was  Sun- 
day, that  the  enemy  would  either  attack  us  again,  or  that  we  should 
sally  forth  and  attack  them,  which  would  have  been  more  to  our 
humour  and  the  purpose,  the  blood  of  the  men  being  up,  and  every- 
body in  good  spirits  at  the  yesterday's  fighting  and  heavy  losses  we 
had  inflicted  upon  the  enemy,  no  orders  came,  and  we  continued  at 
our  posts  all  that  morning.  There  was  some  firing  upon  us,  but 
not  much,  from  two  or  three  houses  occupied  by  the  enemy.  I 
think  it  must  have  been  ten  of  the  clock  that  a  rumour  began  among 
us  that  General  Carpenter  had  arrived,  and  that  the  town  was  in- 
vested, and  we  entirely  surrounded.  At  first  that  seemed  to  matter 
little,  because  we  had  beaten  them  once,  and  could  beat  them  again 
were  they  twice  as  strong.  Next  it  was  whispered  that  we  were 
short  of  powder  as  well  as  provisions.  What  kind  of  officers  arc 
those  who  lead  their  men  into  a  fight  with  no  more  ammunition 
than  is  enough  for  a  single  day's  fighting,  and  no  more  provisions 
than  from  day  to  day  can  be  gathered  on  the  march  ?  Now  when 
I  understood  this  I  began  to  tremble  indeed,  because  it  became 
quite  plain  to  me  that  we  must  now  either  surrender  (though  nearly 
three  to  one,  and  full  of  heart),  or  fight  our  way  out  with  bayonet,  pike, 
and  sword  against  musket  and  cannon.  I  confess,  moreover,  that  I 
was  tempted  to  follow  the  example  of  some  of  our  men,  who,  on 
the  first  suspicion  of  this  desperate  position  of  affairs,  scoured  off, 
and  made  good  their  escape  by  a  way  where  as  yet  none  of  the 
Dragoons  were  posted.  It  was  by  a  street  called  Fishergate,  which 
leads  to  a  meadow  beside  the  river,  where  are  two  good  fords.  I 
know  not  how  many  got  away,  but  by  one  way  or  another,  hiding 
in  the  houses  and  escaping  by  night,  there  must  have  been  more 
than  a  thousand,  because  sure  I  am  that  not  half  of  those  who  were 
with  us  the  day  before  the  fight  were  those  who  laid  down  their 
arms  the  day  after.  A  happy  escape  to  them  !  As  for  those  who 
are  taken,  what  can  they  look  for  ?  Courage,  Miss  Dorothy  !  there 
is  time,  and  something  may  yet  be  done.  We  must  not  despair. 
First,  there  is  open  always  to  poor  mortals  in  their  worst  extremity 
their  appeal  to  Heaven  ;  it  is  not  fortune  alone  which  destroys 
armies.  Next,  it  must  be  admitted  a  noble  madness  at  the  worst, 
which  compelled  so  many  gentlemen  to  go  forth  on  this  forlorn 
hope,  so  that  their  speedy  discomfiture  ought  to  be  a  punishment 


MR.  HILYARD  RETURNS. 


211 


sufficient  uuto  them.  Besides,  there  is  the  famous  passage  of 
Boethius  ' 

'  Oh  !  Mr.  Hilyard,  let  us  not  look  to  Boethius  for  help.  Tell 

me  all,  and  then  let  us  think  what  remains  to  be  done.' 

'  Alas  !  little  is  left  to  tell,  and  that  is  bad.  On  Sunday  morning 
there  was  held  a  council,  of  which  I  have  heard  the  substance, 
though,  of  course,  I  was  not  present.  When  the  time  shall  come 
when  scholars  shall  be  consulted  on  every  subject,  as  the  oracles 
were  consulted  of  old,  there  will  be  a  school  or  college  of  scholars 
whose  sole  business  it  shall  be  to  advise  Ministers,  contrive  measures, 
be  consulted  by  Grenerals,  and  lay  down  plans  for  the  general  good 
of  the  nation.  Happy  would  it  have  been — I  say  it  not  boastfully, 
but  with  sorrow — for  us  all  had  our  commander  sought  the  counsel 
of  the  only  scholar  who  was  with  them.  But  they  knew  not — they 
know  not,  and  do  not  in  their  ignorance  suspect — that  a  man  who 
hath  read  Tacitus,  Livy,  and  Thucydides,  to  say  nothing  of  C^sar 
his  Commentaries,  Sallust  his  history,  the  great  military  writer 
Yegetius  (in  the  Leyden  edition),  and  the  late  campaigns,  with  such 
help  as  was  within  his  reach,  of  the  illustrious  Marlborough,  a 
greater  than  Hannibal,  could  lead  their  army  better  than  all  of 
them  put  together.  No  ammunition,  no  powder,  no  provisions  ; 
not  a  map  of  the  country  ;  no  spies — and  that  bridge  left  unde- 
fended !  Why,  I  should  have  sallied  forth  to  meet  the  enemy,  and 
struck  a  blow,  before  that  bridge  was  abandoned,  as  would  have 
rung  through  all  England  ;  General  Carpenter's  turn  should  have 
followed  next  ;  and  then — then — unless  the  City  of  London  de- 
clared for  the  Prince  I  should  ' 

He  stopped,  gasping,  carried  away  with  the  imaginary  glory  of 
the  campaign  directed  by  himself. 

*What  would  you  have  done  then,  Mr.  Hilyard?' 

*  I  should  have  dictated  terms  to  King  George,  and  in  retm^n  for 
disbanding  my  forces  and  sending  all  home  again,  I  would  have  left 
him  on  the  throne  and  accepted  a  general  amnesty.' 

'  What,  and  desert  the  Prince  ?' 

*  Nothing  is  of  any  lasting  help  for  the  Prince,'  he  said,  *  until  he 
hath  first  turned  Protestant.  Although  they  did  not  consult  me, 
however,  I  learned  that  the  council  was  divided,  and  no  agreement 
possible  ;  for  some  thought  that,  considering  our  number,  which 
was  still  greater  than  that  of  the  enemy,  it  would  be  shameful  to 
surrender  without  another  fight,  while  others  thought  that  enough 
blood  had  been  shed,  and  that  terms  had  better  be  made — such 
terms  as  could  be  obtained.  If  there  was  neither  ammunition  nor 
provision,  how  could  a  sally  be  attempted,  to  say  nothing  of  an 
escape  ?  And  how  could  we  sit  down  to  Idc  starved  ?  Then  the 
town  was  invested  :  we  were  all  caught  like  rats  in  a  trap  ;  if  we 
attempted  to  fight  our  way  out,  we  should  be  shot  down  as  we  ran ; 
with  other  arguments  which  savoured  as  much  of  cowardice  as  of 
prudence.  His  honour,  who  presided,  listened  to  all,  and  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  to  ask  his  opinion.  The  Earl  of  Derwent- 
water,  with  Lis  brother  and  the  Highland  officers,  were  hot  for  a 


212 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


sally,  and  for  fighting  the  way  out  with  sword  and  bayonet  when 
all  the  powder  was  gone.  "  What  !"  they  cried,  "  are  we  to  abandon 
the  enterprise  because  we  are  merely  threatened  ?  We  are  invested 
— that  is  true  ;  we  have  little  powder — that  is  true  ;  let  us  reserve 
all  we  have  to  protect  the  rear,  and  cut  our  way  in  the  darkness 
through  them."  Lord  Widdrington,  for  his  part,  was  strong  for 
capitulation  ;  the  rising,  he  said,  was  hopeless  ;  the  English  gentle- 
men held  aloof,  or  were  hostile  ;  the  Earl  of  Carlisle,  Lord  Lumley, 
and  a  great  many  gentlemen  of  the  north  were  with  General  Car- 
penter ;  they  had  been  deceived  with  promises  of  support,  not  only 
from  men  who  at  the  moment  of  action  refused  to  come  out,  but 
also  from  the  messengers  who  came  and  went  between  London  anri 
the  north — here  he  looked  at  Colonel  Oxbrough.  Things  were  bad, 
but  they  might  be  made  worse  ;  the  business  of  the  Prince  could 
not  be  advanced  by  the  carnage  of  his  followers  ;  wherefore  he  was 
for  a  capitulation  on  honourable  terms.  Then  Lord  Derwentwater 
spoke  again.  He  said  that  he  partly  agreed  with  Lord  Widdring- 
ton ;  their  affairs  were  hopeless  ;  divided  counsels,  as  well  as  mis- 
representation, had  brought  them  to  this  pass  ;  yet  he,  for  one, 
could  not  think  they  should  capitulate  while  they  still  had  their 
swords  left.  Sis  vote,  therefore,  was  again  for  cutting  a  way 
through.  Finally,  all  looked  to  Colonel  Oxbrough,  who,  in  his 
calm  and  quiet  way,  said  that  as  regards  misrepresentation,  he  knew 
of  none,  all  the  business  of  the  Prince  being  carried  on  faithfully, 
as  is  proper  among  gentlemen  ;  that  he  had  himself  been  a  mes- 
senger, and  proved  his  own  loyalty  by  casting  in  his  lot  with  them  ; 
that,  as  to  the  failure  in  the  south  and  west,  and  the  silence  as  re- 
gards Ireland,  he  knew  no  more  than  anyone  present ;  but,  as  to 
the  present  juncture,  he  was  a  soldier,  and  knew  how  to  obey, 
though  against  his  own  judgment  ;  therefore,  whatever  the  opinion 
of  the  council,  he  was  ready  to  obey  again,  whether  it  should  be 
decided  to  fight  or  to  capitulate.  If  to  fight,  many  would  doubtless 
meet  with  the  death  of  a  soldier  ;  if  to  surrender,  some  would  pro- 
bably be  hanged,  some  beheaded,  and  some  pardoned,  and  their 
estates  confiscated.  "  But,"  he  added,  "  those  who  die  will  die  for 
the  King,  and  those  who  are  ruined  will  be  ruined  for  his  sake." 

'  Outside,  and  among  us  of  the  rank  and  file,  there  was  now 
(seeing  that  the  way  of  escape  by  Fishergate  Street  was  at  last 
closed  by  the  Dragoons)  only  one  feeling — namely,  that  we  should 
fight  our  way  out  ;  and  hard  things  were  said  of  our  leaders,  who 
had  got  us  into  this  trap,  out  of  which  there  was  no  escape,  although 
so  many  roads,  so  that  we  were  like  crabs  and  lobsters  in  their 
wicker-work  cages,  whereinto  they  can  creep  with  ease,  but  cannot 
get  out  again.  Nevertheless,  despair  and  determination  would  have  ^ 
made  a  way,  I  doubt  not,  for  who  would  not  fight  if  it  were  certain 
death  to  remain  and  probable  death  to  advance  ?  I  know  not  what 
m^y  be  the  clemency  of  King  George,  on  which  they  now  build  so 
many  hopes,  but  kings  do  not  use  to  be  merciful  towards  rebels. 
However,  we  were  all  resolved  to  fight,  and  when  at  length  Colonel  Ox- 
brough was  sent  to  treat  of  surrender,  the  common  soldiers  were  told, 


MR.  HILYARD  RETURNS. 


213 


to  keep  them  quiet,  that  General  Willes  had  offered  honourable  terma 
if  we  would  lay  down  our  arms.  The  terms  which  he  brought  back 
were,  indeed,  nothing  but  what  we  had  a  right  to  expect — namely,  that 
we  were  to  surrender  at  discretion.  This,  one  must  own,  was  choking 
to  us  all,  after  a  victory  such  as  ours.  The  Colonel  brought  back  this 
reply,  and  a  second  message  was  sent  by  Captain  Dalzell  begging 
for  time,  which  was  granted — namely,  until  seven  o'clock  on  Mon- 
day morning,  provided  that  no  more  entrenchments  were  thrown 
up  and  that  hostages  were  sent.  It  was  with  a  heavy  heart,  indeed, 
that  I  saw  my  Lord  Derwentwater,  with  grave  and  serious  counte- 
nance, ride  forth  with  Colonel  Macintosh,  as  our  hostages.  For  I 
understood  very  well  that  this  was  but  the  beginning  of  the  end, 
and  that  our  vaunted  rising,  which  was  to  have  been  followed  by 
the  general  voice  of  the  whole  nation,  had  come  to  a  sudden  and 
shameful  end.  I  could  not  but  think  of  all  that  this  brave  young 
gentleman  staked  upon  the  issue  of  the  enterprise  :  his  vast  estates, 
his  rank  and  dignity — even  his  life  :  for,  though  the  clemency  of 
the  King  be  extended  to  all  else,  can  it  ever  include  the  Prince's 
cousin,  his  playfellow,  and  his  most  intimate  friend  ?  Alas  !  I  fear 
that  noontide  sun  of  splendour  is  veiled  and  eclipsed  already  !  It 
is  reported  that  when  Lord  Derwentwater  entered  the  General's 
tent,  he  sat  down  and  said,  with  a  sigh,  that  he  would  rather  trust 
himself  to  the  clemency  of  King  George  than  return  to  an  army 
where  there  was  neither  wisdom,  agreement,  obedience,  nor  honesty 
(thinking  of  the  mischievous  jealousies  between  Englishman  and 
Scot).  For  clemency,  we  know  not ;  the  smaller  folk  may  hope, 
but  for  my  lord,  I  dare  prophesy  that  he  will  smile  no  more  upon 
this  earth.  And  as  i:or  the  rest  of  his  days,  they  will  be  few  indeed 
and  full  of  sorrow.  I  know  not  in  what  reflections  my  comrades 
passed  Sunday  night ;  but  for  myself,  I  meditated  continually  on 
the  nearness  of  death,  seeing  nothing  but  probable  destruction 
whichever  way  was  chosen.  Why,  I  asked  myself,  did  I  make  or 
meddle  with  the  matter  ?  For,  though  bound  in  duty  to  follow  his 
honour  did  he  order  it,  I  was  not  bound  to  volunteer  my  life  in  the 
cause.  Again,  I  said  to  myself,  though  I  hoped  to  show  gratitude 
by  being  of  service,  I  should  have  known  that  as  a  common  soldier 
I  could  have  no  say  in  the  council — not  even  private  intercourse 
with  the  General.  Perhaps  there  were  others  such  as  myself  ; 
though  most  seemed  insensible  to  danger,  and  lay  sleeping  like  logs 
all  the  night,  and  in  the  morning  would  have  gone  forth  to  fight  as 
cheerfully  as  to  play  a  bout  at  quarterstaff.  Truly  I  think  that 
most  of  our  vaunted  courage  doth  proceed  from  insensibility  and 
lack  of  imagination,  so  that  the  brave  soldier  who  marches  straight 
to  the  cannon's  mouth  does  so  because  he  cannot  think,  or  picture 
the  future,  and  would  draw  back  and  flinch  if  he  could  foresee  the 
agony  of  his  wound  and  the  dreadful  pain  in  which  he  must  die. 
However  this  may  be,  when  it  became  known  in  the  morning  that, 
after  all,  we  were  to  surrender,  and  that  after  what  had  seemed  to 
us  a  most  glorious  and  successful  action,  in  which  they  lost  ten 
times  as  many  men  as  we,  and  had  at  last  to  retire^  the  rage  azsd 


214 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


disappointment  of  the  men  were  terrible  to  witness.  They  ran 
about  the  streets,  calling  upon  each  other  to  sally  forth  and  force  a 
way  out.  Had  they  been  led  in  this  attempt,  I  am  very  certain  that 
we  should  have  got  away,  though  with  heavy  loss,  and  perhaps  have 
gotten  in  the  end  much  advantage  to  the  cause.  But  our  officers 
were  too  tender  for  us  (if  not  for  themselves),  therefore  we  must 
needs  be  hanged,  as  will  doubtless  happen  to  most,  or  sent  to  the 
Plantations,  or  die  of  gaol-fever — though  with  regard  to  his  honour, 
Miss  Dorothy,  we  must  hope  for  better  things.  The  unfortunate 
Mr.  Patten,  poor  wretch,  will  have  but  short  shrift,  I  fear.  I  love 
not  the  man,  yet  I  confess  that  his  courage  in  coming  out  with  us, 
his  bravery  in  the  action,  and  his  present  constancy  under  misfor- 
tune, have  caused  me  to  forgive  the  past. 

'  The  soldiers  ran,  I  say,  this  way  and  that,  distracted,  and  with- 
out a  leader,  for  the  officers  and  gentlemen,  even  those  who  were 
loudest  to  sally  forth,  kept  within,  and  ventured  not  out  to  meet 
that  roaring,  maddened  mob.  One  there  was  among  us  who  ven- 
tured to  use  the  word  "  surrender."  Him  they  shot.  As  for  me, 
having  designs  of  my  own,  I  bellowed  with  the  rest,  and  so  kept  a 
whdle  skin. 

*Miss  Dorothy,'  he  interrupted  himself,  crying  out  as  if  violently 
moved,  '  I  maintain  and  declare  that  the  whole  business  was  con- 
ducted so  feebly  from  the  very  beginning,  when  they  refused  to 
enlist  the  men  who  volunteered,  to  the  end,  when  they  would  not 
even  keep  the  bridge  or  sally  forth  and  attack  the  enemy,  whom  we 
outnumbered  by  three  to  one,  that  his  honour  the  General  was  right 
to  bring  it  to  a  close.  Yes,  we  might  have  made  a  sortie  ;  there 
were  still  a  few  rounds  of  powder  left ;  we  might  (some  of  us)  have 
escaped,  and  the  lives  lost  would  have  been  counted  by  hundreds  ; 
and  afterwards  what  would  have  been  our  lot,  but  wandering  among 
the  mountains  and  starving  on  the  moors,  with  death  for  those  taken 
prisoner,  and  few  indeed  winning  their  way  to  the  Scottish  army  ? 
Whereas,  now,  the  Government  may  show  themselves  merciful. 
One  knows  not,  to  be  sure,  the  fate  of  Lord  Mar  ;  if  he  be  success- 
ful for  a  time — for  he  cannot,  I  am  sure,  in  the  long  run — our 
prisoners  may  meet  with  leniency  ;  if  Lord  Mar  be  already  defeated, 
which  much  I  fear,  then  the  fate  of  the  prisoners  may  be  hard. 
Let  us  not  forget  that  their  leaders  gave  themselves  up,  in  the  hope 
that  the  common  sort  might  escape  unharmed  and  free.' 

It  was  Tom's  good  heart  and  compassionate  nature  made  him 
listen  to  the  counsels  of  Lord  Widdrington.  He  gave  up  himself 
and  his  friends  to  save  the  poor  fellows  who  had  followed  them  ; 
there  was  to  be  no  unnecessary  bloodshed.  I  know  now  that  this 
is  not  the  way  in  which  campaigns  should  be  conducted.  Does  a 
Marlborough  when  he  meditates  a  Blenheim  think  with  pity  of  the 
soldiers  who  will  die  in  carrying  out  his  plans  ?  Tom  was  not  a 
Marlborough,  nor  ought  he  to  have  been  a  general.  Yet  as  for  his 
courage,  that  was  abundantly  proved  ;  as  for  his  honesty,  that  wafl 
never  doubted  ;  as  for  his  military  genius,  we  must  look  for  it  in 
the  plans  proposed  by  Colonel  Oxbrough,  and  if  we  find  it  not  in 


MR.  HILYARD  RETURNS. 


215 


the  history  of  the  campaign,  we  must  remember  that  discord  pre- 
vailed in  every  council,  where  every  man  regarded  himself  as  equal 
to  the  General-in-Chief.  The  leaders,  when  there  was  no  hope  but 
in  a  great  carnage,  gave  themselves  up  to  save  the  rest.  It  was 
nobly  done  by  them.  As  for  King  George's  clemency,  we  must 
look  to  the  heads  on  Temple  Bar,  the  scaffolds  on  Tower  Hill,  the 
shootings  and  hangings  at  Liverpool,  Warrington,  and  Preston  ; 
the  deaths  in  prison,  the  confiscated  estates,  and  the  long  lines  of 
wretches  put  on  board  the  ships  at  Liverpool,  and  sent  out  to  work 
for  the  rest  of  their  days,  torn  from  their  homes,  in  the  Plantations 
of  Virginia  and  Jamaica. 

Mr.  Hilyard  went  on  to  finish  his  narrative. 

*In  the  midst  of  the  confusion,  one  Mr.  Alexander  Murray, 
Lieutenant  in  Strathmore's  Regiment,  being  a  hot-headed  youth, 
and  full  of  indignation  against  the  surrender,  made  his  way  to 
General  Forster's  quarters,  where  his  honour  sat,  in  melancholy 
mood,  as  may  be  imagined,  and  with  him  one  or  two  gentlemen, 
and  Mr.  Patten,  his  chaplain.  Mr.  Murray  carried  in  his  hand  a 
pistol,  which  no  one  had  noticed  until  he  burst  into  their  midst, 
and  crying  "  Traitor  !"  levelled  it  at  Mr.  Forster's  head,  and  would 
most  certainly  have  killed  him,  but  that  Mr.  Patten  struck  up  the 
pistol,  and  the  shot  went  into  the  ceiling. 

'  Quite  early  in  the  morning,  almost  before  daylight,  the  Dragoons 
rode  in.  A  trumpet  was  blown,  and,  all  being  presently  drawn  up 
in  the  market-place,  the  men  were  told  to  lay  down  their  arms, 
which  they  did  with  very  rueful  faces,  and  only  because  they  had 
no  more  ammunition,  and  there  was  no  one  to  lead  them.  Thus 
ended  our  great  and  glorious  Rebellion.  I  have  left  at  Preston  near 
500  English  gentlemen  and  followers  and  soldiers  (where  are  all  the 
rest — those  who  promised,  but  came  not ;  and  those  who  came,  but 
ran  away  ?),  and  1,000  Scots,  of  whom  150  are  noblemen  and  gen- 
tlemen (but  at  least  1,000  must  have  got  away,  or  gone  away,  before 
the  fighting  began).  What  they  will  do  with  all  I  know  not.  My 
gi-eatest  hope  is  that,  seeing  they  have  so  many  in  the  net,  they  may 
pardon  all ;  but  my  greatest  fear  is  that,  seeing  they  have  both  small 
and  great,  they  may  punish  all  the  great  while  they  suffer  the  small 
to  go  free.' 

'  Then,  how  is  it,*  I  asked,  *  that  you,  too,  are  not  a  prisoner  ?' 

He  laughed,  and  took  another  draught  of  the  October. 

'  When  I  perceived,'  he  said,  '  how  things  were  likely  to  go,  T 
reflected  that  a  free  man  is  certainly  more  useful  than  a  prisoner  ; 
and  that,  if  I  could  be  of  any  service  to  his  honour  (as  the  mouse 
was  once  of  service  to  the  lion),  it  could  only  be  if  I  was  free. 
Wherefore,  I  cast  about  in  my  mind  for  a  way  of  escape.  Hapj)ily, 
I  remembered  that  the  man  in  whose  house  I  was  billeted,  an 
apothecary  by  trade,  had  already  professed  some  kind  of  friendship 
for  me  because  of  certain  recipes,  secrets,  and  ancient  mixtures, 
which,  out  of  my  reading  in  Celsus,  and  other  learned  authors,  I 
had  been  able  to  impart  to  him.  Therefore,  before  the  proclama- 
tion for  all  to  repair  to  the  market-place  was  issued,  I  had  already 


2l6 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


awakened  my  friend  from  sleep,  and  communicated  to  him  my 
plan.  It  was  nothing  more  than  this,  that,  having  first  shaved  my 
head  and  chin  (one  of  the  marks  of  our  men  being  a  bristly  chin), 
he  should  give  me  an  old  second-hand  full-bottomed  wig,  such  as  is 
worn  by  those  apothecaries  who  wish  to  pass  for  learned  physicians, 
and  a  blue  apron,  and  should  put  me  behind  his  own  counter.  This 
obliging  man,  for  whom  I  will  most  certainly  transcribe  the  Roman 
cure  for  podagra  as  soon  as  (if  ever)  I  reach  home — that  is,  the 
Manor  House — again,  most  generously  gave  me  all  1  wanted.  'Nota 
hene^  he  is  a  bachelor,  which  made  the  thing  eas;ier,  there  being  no 
woman  in  his  house  to  pry  and  talk,  except  a  deaf  old  crone.  I, 
therefore,  became  for  the  day  his  apprentice,  assistant,  or  journey- 
roan,  serving  drugs,  mixing  medicines,  and  preparing  lotions,  emetics, 
plaisters,  and  other  things  for  the  sick  men  and  wounded.  You  may 
think  that  all  this  time  I  kept  my  face  so  screwed  up,  that  no  one, 
even  of  our  own  men  (but  they  were  under  ward)  should  know  me. 
Another  service  the  apothecary  did  for  me.  Lord  Widdrington  was 
ill  with  the  gout  ;  my  (supposed)  master  had  to  prescribe  for  him. 
This  would  give  him,  I  thought,  the  chance  of  speaking  a  word  to 
his  honour. 

'  The  good  man  told  me  that  he  found  his  honour  at  the  Mitre 
Tavern,  where  were  also  all  the  lords  and  some  other  of  the  gentle- 
men, the  whole  company  greatly  cast  down  ;  that,  after  giving 
Lord  Widdrington  his  medicine,  he  whispered  in  Mr.  Forster's  ear 
(but  there  were  no  sentinels  in  the  room  to  watch  or  guard  the 
prisoners)  that  I  was  in  his  house,  safely  bestowed  and  disguised 
for  the  present,  and  designed  to  escape  on  the  first  opportunity,  and 
that  I  desired  to  know  if  I  could  be  of  service  to  him.  To  this 
Mr.  Forster  replied  that  he  knew  not  what  could  be  done.  But," 
he  said,  "  bid  Mr.  Hilyard,  as  soon  as  he  safely  may,  go  to  Lady 
Crewe,  and  inform  her  exactly  of  all  the  circumstances.  And  tell 
him  to  take  care  of  Mistress  Dorothy,  my  sister."  ' 

Thus  in  the  hour  of  his  greatest  humiliation  did  my  brother  find 
a  kind  thought  for  me. 

'  When  the  night  fell,'  Mr.  Hilyard  went  on,  '  I  made  haste  to 
depart,  all  the  more  quickly  because  my  benefactor,  the  apothecary, 
began  to  be  uneasy  lest  any  of  the  townsfolk  should  accuse  him  of 
harbouring  a  rebel.  By  this  time  the  search  in  the  houses  was 
over,  and  the  streets  swept  clear  of  our  unlucky  insurgents,  who 
were  all  under  lock  and  key,  except  those  fortunate  enough  to  get 
off,  like  myself.  As  for  the  Highlanders  and  common  soldiers,  they 
were  all  clapped  into  the  parish  church.  But  because  the  Dragoons 
were  riding  up  and  down  stopping  and  questioning  all  passengers, 
I  filled  a  basket  with  some  bottles  of  physic,  and  put  a  little  biscuit 
into  my  pocket.  Thus  prepared,  and  with  my  apron  still  tied  round 
me,  I  sallied  forth.  Now  all  the  roads  were  blocked  with  patrols, 
but  I  knew  a  way,  could  I  reach  it,  where  a  lane  led  to  a  meadow, 
and  beyond  the  meadow  was  a  ford  over  the  river,  and  beyond  the 
ford  open  fields.  The  night  was  dark,  with  sleet  and  rain,  which 
helped  me  to  pass  nnperceived,  though  in  a  great  quaking,  for, 


MR,  HILYARD  RETURNS. 


217 


believe  me,  I  had  no  great  confidence  in  my  apron  should  I  be 
questioned.  In  a  word,  I  got  in  safety  to  my  lane,  ran  across  the 
meadow,  and  through  the  river,  up  to  the  middle  in  the  freezing 
water,  and  so  into  the  open  country.  All  that  night  I  walked  or 
ran,  and  towards  morning  found  a  barn,  where  I  lay  on  soft  straw, 
and  slept  the  day  through.  And  so  I  made  my  way  here,  and  am 
once  more,  Miss  Dorothy,  if  I  be  not  taken  prisoner,  hopeful  to 
sei^e  you  again.' 

This  was  the  story  which  Mr.  Hilyard  brought  to  me.  When  I 
had  heard  it  throughout  I  sat  awhile  as  one  who  is  stunned  with  a 
blow  upon  the  head,  saying  nothing,  while  Mr.  Hilyard  began  to 
comfort  me  and  himself  with  illustrations,  taken  from  sacred  and 
ancient  history,  of  misfortunes  and  reverses  to  kings  and  princes, 
instancing  Crassus,  Croesus,  Polyeuctes,  Cato,  Brutus,  Cassius,  Han- 
nibal, and  many  other  notable  cases,  in  which  fortune  proved  fickle. 
Alas !  what  did  the  violent  death  of  Cato  signify  to  me,  who  was 
in  ten'or  for  a  brother  ?  Presently  he  ceased  talking,  and  his  eyes 
closed.  He  was  asleep.  This  did  not  show  want  of  feeling,  for  I 
remembered  that  the  poor  man  had  been  walking  for  two  nights, 
and  was  tired  out. 

I  left  him  sleeping,  and  went  to  my  own  room,  where  I  lay  awake 
all  night,  thinking  what  should  be  done.  To  all  my  thinking  there 
came  but  one  gleam  of  hope.  There  was  the  King's  clemency. 
Had  I  known  or  suspected  the  vengeance  that  would  be  wreaked 
upon  these  unfortunate  prisoners  there  would  have  been  no  hope 
left  at  all. 

CHAPTER  XXYII. 

TO  LONDON. 

*  It  is  certain,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  that  the  lords  and  the  chiefs  will 
be  taken  to  London,  there  to  be  tried  for  high  treason.  I  heard  that 
it  was  already  decided  from  two  King's  officers,  who  came  to  the 
shop  for  a  plaister  on  Monday  afternoon.' 

This  made  me  think  that,  if  one  were  to  help  Tom,  it  must  be  in 
London,  and  I  presently  resolved  that  somehow  I  would  get  me 
thither.  To  be  sure,  it  was  a  great  journey  for  a  woman  to  under- 
take, and  that  in  winter.  But  it  must  be  done.  Mr.  Hilyard  was 
going  to  Stene.  I  would  go  with  him  so  far  ;  after  that  by  myself, 
if  necessary,  or  under  such  charge  as  Lady  Crewe  would  assign  to 
me,  and  to  such  a  house  as  she  would  recommend  to  me.  On  this  I 
quickly  resolved,  and  was  determined.  As  for  Lord  Crewe's  help, 
on  that  I  built  little,  because  it  needed  not  a  politician  to  perceive 
that  one  of  his  lordship's  history  and  known  opinions  would  have 
small  interest  in  a  Whig  Court.  Yet  when  a  man  is  so  highly  placed 
he  must  have  friends,  cousins,  and  old  acquaintances  on  both  sides. 

*  Add  to  this,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  that  to-day  my  turn ;  to-morrow 
yours !    The  great  Whig  Lords  are  not  too  certain  of  their  seats.' 

When,  however,  I  told  Mr.  Hilyard  that  I  was  resolved  to  go,  I 
had  the  greatest  trouble  with  him.    For,  first,  he  maintained  stiffly 


2l8 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


that  it  would  be  impossible  to  take  me  with  him  on  account  of  the 
weather,  it  being  already  the  middle  of  November,  the  days  growing 
short,  and  the  roads  so  heavy  that  no  one  could  expect  the  coach  or 
any  waggons  would  run.  Moreover,  there  had  already  fallen  so 
great  a  depth  of  snow  as  I  have  never  seen  since,  insomuch  that 
Hexham  Moor  was  four  or  five  feet  deep  in  it,  and  in  the  drifts 
much  deeper.  No  one,  he  said,  ought  to  travel  in  such  weather  but 
those  who  are  young,  strong,  and  fear  not  the  cold.  I  replied  that 
I  was  both  strong  and  young,  and  fearless  of  cold.  Next,  as  to  other 
dangers,  he  was  himself  well  known  in  these  parts  as  having  been 
in  the  service  of  Mr.  Forster,  both  the  elder  and  the  younger,  for 
fifteen  years ;  during  that  time  having  met  with  many  people  and 
made  many  acquaintances.  It  also  was  very  well  known  that  he 
went  out  with  his  patron.  This  being  so,  what  if  he  were  arrested 
and  imprisoned,  and  I  left  alone  on  the  road?  I  replied  that  such 
a  thing  would  be  most  dreadful,  and  must  therefore  be  guarded 
against  by  some  disguise,  the  nature  of  which  I  would  leave  to  his 
invention.  *  Why,'  he  said,  smiling,  '  as  to  that,  I  doubt  not  that  I 
could  dress  up  so  as  to  defy  them  all ;  but  there  is  also  yourself. 
Will  it  be  wise,  think  you,  men's  minds  being  in  a  tumult,  to  pro- 
claim aloud  that  Miss  Dorothy  Forster,  sister  of  General  Forster,  is 
going  to  London  in  order  to  get  off  her  brother,  if  she  can  in  any 
way  prevail  ?  There  must  be  disguise  for  you,  as  well  as  for  me,  if 
you  will  go.' 

'  Indeed  I  shall  go,'  I  replied ;  '  nothing  else  will  content  me. 
And  I  trust  to  you  to  bring  me  safe  to  town  ;  disguise  me  as  you 
will.    Why,  Mr.  Hilyard,  who  is  there  to  work  for  Tom  but  myself  ?' 

'  There  is  Lady  Crewe,'  he  said.  'And,  truly,  I  know  not  what 
you  could  do  in  London.' 

'  Yes,  Mr.  Hilyard ;  by  your  leave  I  could  be  doing  something. 
I  could  see  Tom,  and  do  v/hat  is  told  me.  Surely  he  has  friends  in 
London.' 

'  Surely  he  has  ;  but  I  fear  that  they  are  all  on  the  wrong  side, 
like  Lady  Crewe  herself.    Have  you  no  cousins  among  the  Whigs  ?' 

Cousins  I  had,  plenty  as  blackberries,  but  all  were  honest  Tories. 
Stay,  there  was  one ;  but  I  had  never  seen  her.  She  was  Mary 
Clavering,  who  made  a  great  match,  and  married  Lord  Cowper. 

'  Lord  Cowper  ?  Lord  Cowper  ?'  cried  Mr.  Hilyard.  '  Why,  he 
is  Lord  Chancellor.  If  Lady  Cowper  is  your  cousin,  the  business  is 
as  good  as  done.  But  yet,  I  know  not.  She  cannot  ask  for  many  ; 
and  there  is  Mr.  Clavering  of  Callalee  a  prisoner.  Still,  there  is  one 
friend  at  Court  for  us.  If  he  only  had  the  money  (but  perhaps  his 
honour's  friends  in  London  will  find  that)  to  grease  a  few  palms,  I 
should  not  despair.  Miss  Dorothy,  if  you  are  brave,  and  feel  strong 
enough,  come  to  London  with  me,  in  the  name  of  God.' 

Then  he  began  to  plan  disguises  ;  and  first  he  thought  he  would 
become  a  clergyman,  and  I  his  daughter — then  he  walked  about, 
puffing  his  cheeks  and  smacking  his  protruded  lips,  like  one  of  those 
reverend  gentlemen  who  think  too  much  of  the  fleshpots  and  the 
flask.    (While  thus  acting,  he  looked  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  wore 


TO 


\LONDON. 


219 


a  cassock.)    But  that  plan 
cause  he  remembered  that  i 
might  happen  on  the  road,^ 
appointed  for  the  sick, 
administer  the  Holy  Sa 
and  unpardonable  sin ; 
the  cheat,  and  so  be  halj 
a  rogue,  and  very  lik 
Then  he  thought  that  ] 
long,  and  he  carried 
the  smell  of  drugs, 

^  Why,'  he  said 
having  once, 
Galen,  and  Avici 
fell  in  with  a  ' 
coin  of  speeCj 
own  manner 


leased  him  not,  on  consideration,  be- 
is  a  long  way  to  London,  that  accidents 
"  he  be  called  upon  to  read  the  service 
console  and  fortify  the  djdng,  even  to 
•ament,  which  would  be  a  most  dreadful 
d  yet,  if  he  refused,  he  must  needs  confess 
to  prison,  or  whipped  out  of  the  town  as 
I  with  him.    No ;  that  would  not  do. 
e  would  be  a  physician,  and  his  face  became 
nose  in  the  air,  and  one  seemed  to  perceive 
s  generally  the  case  with  these  gentry, 
uly,  I  am  already  somewhat  skilled  in  medicine, 
young,  read  for  curiosity  the  works  of  Celsus, 
a,  and  could  easily  pass  for  a  physician  until  I 
'bther  of  the  mystery,  when,  for  lack  of  the  current 
and  the  jargon  of  the  trade,  every  craft  having  its 
speech,  I  should  certainly  be  discovered.' 


,ughed,  for  a  new  idea  occurred  to  him,  and  he  begged 
dm  for  a  few  minutes.  So  he  left  the  room.  Presently 
and  a  knock  at  the  door.    Wonderful  is  the  power  of 
a  miii^^«  '       is  needless  to  say  that  I  knew  Mr.  Hilyard  under  his 
uise,  but  I  also  knew,  which  is  much  more  to  the  point,  for 
he  wished  to  be  taken.    There  is  in  the  village  of  Bamborough 
an  honest  blacksmith  named  J ohn  Purdy,  of  as  old  a  family  as  our 
own,  because  if  we  have  been  Forsters  of  Etherston  from  time  im- 
memorial, the  Purdys  have  been  village  blacksmiths  for  as  long  (one 
of  them  joined  the  insurgents  at  Kendal  for  no  other  reason  than 
because  Mr.  Tom  was  the  General,  and  afterwards  for  his  trouble 
got  sent  to  Virginia,  where  he  presently  was  set  free,  and  is  now 
doing  well).    John  Purdy  was  a  man  of  forty,  short  and  square 
built,  who  went  lame  by  reason  of  an  accident  in  his  'prentice  days. 
He  wore  a  handkerchief  tied  round  his  head,  and  over  that  a  great 
flapping  hat,  and  in  his  hand  always  a  stout  ashen  staff.    Such  as 
he  was,  so  was  Mr.  Hilyard — a  simple  tradesman,  honest  to  look  at, 
and  not  ashamed  of  himself,  knowing  his  duty  to  his  betters.  Why, 
Mr.  Hilyard  looked  almost  too  much  of  a  village  blacksmith.  He 
had  no  occasion  to  carry  a  hammer  ;  there  was  across  his  face  a 
grimy  stain  of  oil  or  grease  ;  his  hands  were  rusty  with  iron  stains ; 
his  flapping  hat  was  over  the  red  handkerchief  ;  his  neck  was  wrapped 
in  wool. 

'  Will  this  do.  Miss  Dorothy  ?'  he  asked  with  pride ;  and  as  he 
spoke  his  face  became  square  like  the  face  of  J  ohn  Purdy,  his  mouth 
set  firm,  and  his  nose  long  and  straight.  '  Will  this  do  ?  I  am  now 
a  North-country  blacksmith  ;  I  am  going  to  Durham  to  seek  for 
work  with  my  sister,  who  is  a  handy  girl,  knovv^s  her  place,  and  is 
respectful  to  her  betters.  At  Durham  we  shall  be  going  to  Newcastle, 
at  Newcastle  to  York,  and  at  York  to  London .  It  is  a  truly  admirable 
disguise.    I  am  safe,  unless  they  ask  me  to  make  a  horseshoe.' 

His  spirit,  which  had  been  desponding,  rallied  again  at  the 
prospect  of  riding  to  London  and  play-acting  all  the  way. 


220  DOROTHY  P;ORSTER, 

I  asked  him  when  the  prisoners  Wglit  be  expected  to  arrive  in 
London.  v 

'  Justice,'  he  said,  '  is  not  only  blind/.but  lame.  That  is  why  she 
goeth  so  slowly.  But  I  see  no  reason  wyhy  the  prisoners  should  be 
kept  at  Preston.  They  will  ride  by  ^sy  stages,  perhaps  ten  or 
twelve  miles  a  day  ;  and  it  is  three  bundled  miles  or  so.  If  I  were 
his  honour  or  Lord  Derwentwater,  I  wou^try  whether  a  clean  pair 
of  heels  would  not  be  more  to  the  purpose  ^han  Court  influence.* 

'  But  suppose  they  are  too  well  guarded.'^ 

He  laughed.  \ 

*  You  cannot,'  he  said,  'guard  a  man  who^^solves  to  escape,  and 
hath  the  wit.  Oh  Lord !  everything  is  possffele  to  him  who  hath 
the  wit.'  \ 

'  Then,  Mr.  Hilyard,  why  have  not  you  become^  a  rich  man  ?' 

He  might  have  replied  that  it  was  partly  out  of  sbjs  fidelity  to  me 
and  to  mine  ;  otherwise,  had  so  ingenious  a  gemJ^i^^^n  gone  to 
London,  he  must,  surely,  have  acquired  great  fame  arid  riches. 

We  set  off  on  our  journey  the  next  morning,  in  a  tV^ible  gale  of 
wind  and  snow,  through  which  nothing  could  have  kepj  iii^  but 
a  terror  worse  than  that  of  a  driving  wind  across  a  bleaSs^^oor.  I 
had  with  me  in  my  pocket  all  the  money  that  I  could  find,  aStiP^^nt- 
ing  in  all  to  no  more  than  twenty-four  guineas.  I  also  tied  up^  in 
as  small  a  parcel  as  I  could  make  it,  some  of  my  fine  things  whicSSl 
might  want  in  London.  These  Mr.  Hilyard  made  into  a  pack.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  long  brown  coat  of  frieze,  with  long  sleeves,  which 
covered  his  hands  as  well  as  gloves  might  have  done,  and  was, 
besides,  muffled  up  about  the  neck  and  chin,  so  that  certainly  no 
one,  with  his  flapping  hat  and  his  limp,  would  have  recognised  him. 
As  for  me,  I  was  dressed  like  any  plain  village  girl,  with  a  hood  and 
thick  flannel  petticoats.  We  were  to  ride  the  same  horse  (but  that 
a  good  stout  nag,  easily  able  to  carry  both),  I  on  pillion  behind  Mr. 
Hilyard  ;  but  the  way  was  so  bad,  and  the  snow  so  deep,  that  I  do 
not  think  the  poor  man  rode  fifty  miles  out  of  all  the  way  between 
Blanchland  and  London.  Often  we  both  walked,  one  each  side  the 
poor  creature,  who  picked  his  way  slowly  in  the  deep  snow,  and  sank 
sometimes  up  to  the  girth. 

'If  we  may  believe  in  the  intervention  of  Heaven,'  said  Mr. 
Hilyard,  '  v/e  might  own  that  the  wrath  of  the  Lord  is  poured  out 
upon  us  for  our  Rebellion  against  the  Protestant  Succession,  in 
snow  and  sleet,  storm  and  rain  ?' 

'And  yet,'  I  replied,  'there  be  many  thousands  in  England  who 
have  not  joined  in  the  Eebellion  :  and  for  them,  too,  are  the  storm 
and  snow.' 

'  Yes  ;  and  David  alone  counted  the  people,  yet  the  people 
perished.' 

Every  day,  and  all  day  long,  Sundays  included,  we  continued  our 
journey  in  such  a  winter  as  I  hope  never  to  see  again.  On  the  road 
we  were  in  little  danger  :  footpads  would  not  attack  a  pair  of  poor 
country  people  :  no  one  was  likely  to  recognise  either  of  us  :  the 
danger  and  the  inconvenience  were  in  the  evening,  when  we  had  to 


TO  LONDON. 


221 


find  the  rudest  lodgings,  avoiding  the  inns,  unless  we  were  compelled 
to  go  to  them  ;  and  then  Mr.  Hilyard  would  be  in  terror  lest  some 
one  should  offer  a  rudeness  to  me,  whereby  he  would  have  to  fight 
and  create  a  disturbance,  and  be  taken  before  a  justice  ;  and  I  in 
terror  lest  he  should  be  carried  away  by  his  vanity,  and  begin  to 
sing  and  to  show  his  gifts  and  parts.  But  neither  of  these  things 
happened.  For  myself,  as  soon  as  I  had  a  bed,  or  a  part  of  a  bed, 
given  to  me  (which  was  always  among  the  maids  and  servants,  as 
suited  my  pretended  condition),  I  would  go  there  and  sit  down,  and 
to  bed  early,  while  the  rest,  men  and  women  together,  sat  round  the 
fii'e,  my  blacksmith  being  thought  a  surly  fellow,  who  spoke  little, 
though  he  was  willing  to  drink  with  any  who  offered. 

Once  the  night  fell  before  we  found  a  resting-house,  and  we  lost 
our  way.  Then,  indeed,  my  brave  companion  and  trusty  friend, 
who  had  kept  me  in  heart  by  his  own  courage,  seemed  to  lose  his 
courage  suddenly. 

'  Alas  !'  he  said,  when  I  reproved  him  gently,  '  I  know  of  dangers 
whereof  you  know  nothing.  We  are  now  warm  and  not  yet  hungry, 
but  we  shall  presently  become  chilled  with  the  terrible  wind,  and 
we  shall  grow  hungry,  and  we  shall  yawn  and  feel  a  desire  to  fall 
asleep.  But,  mark  you,  if  we  fall  asleep  we  shall  die.  Wherefore, 
if  you  see  me  growing  sleepy  or  heavy,  prick  me  sharply  with  a 
pin  ;  and  if  you  so  much  as  yawn,  think  it  not  strange  if  I  shake 
you  by  the  shoulders.  It  is  related  in  Olaus  Magnus  how  a  company 
of  sailors,  going  a-fishing  about  the  North  Cape  (where  live  the 
little  Lapps,  and  there  are  terrible  sorcerers  and  magicians),  were 
overtaken  by  a  storm  of  wind  and  snow,  and  so  lost  their  way,  and 
presently  fell  a-y awning  and  so  all  to  sleep  save  one,  who  kept  him- 
self awake  with  deep  stabs  and  cuts  of  a  knife,  causing  sore  pains  ; 
so  that  if  his  eyelids  fell,  for  mere  smart  he  was  sure  to  open  them 
again — and  so  Vv^as  at  last  picked  up  and  recovered.  But  his  com- 
panions sleep  stil],  where  they  lie  covered  with  snow  and  ice,  and 
so  will  lie  till  the  Day  of  Judgment.  Miss  Dorothy,  'tis  an  awful 
tale  !    Prick  me  sharply,  I  pray  you,  if  I  so  much  as  offer  to  yawn.' 

The  wind  blew  too  cold  in  our  faces  for  me,  at  least,  to  feel 
sleepy,  or  to  think  of  yawning.  But  it  was  late,  and  the  road  grev/ 
worse,  and  I  knew  not  whither  we  might  be  going. 

The  poor  tired  nag  was  stumbling  now,  and  both  of  us  at  his 
head.  There  seemed  no  vestige  of  a  road.  The  landscape  on  either 
hand,  for  it  was  a  champaign  country,  lay  stretched  out  white, 
covered  with  snow.  The  clouds  had  cleared  away,  and  the  moon 
was  out  ;  but  not  a  barn,  or  a  farmhouse,  or  a  cottage  in  which  we 
could  seek  for  so  much  as  a  shelter  in  the  straw.  We  plodded  on, 
the  horse  hf ting  his  feet  with  difficulty,  and  Mr.  Hilyard,  now  in  a 
kind  of  despair,  begging  me  from  time  to  time  not  to  yawn,  and  to 
have  a  long  pin  ready. 

Suddenly  we  saw  before  us  a  light,  or  lights. 

'  Is  it  a  Will-o'-the-wisp  ?'  I  said.  '  Or  it  may  be  a  fairy  light. 
Sure  nothing  human  could  be  out  on  such  a  night,  except  our- 
selves.' 


222 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


*  I  know  not  what  it  is/  he  said  ;  '  but  I  have  two  loaded  pistola 
in  the  holsters,  and,  by  your  leave,  I  will  have  them  in  readiness  : 
and  there  is  also  my  cudgel,  but  I  hope  I  shall  not  have  to  use  dt. 
Miss  Dorothy,  forgive  me  for  letting  you  come  with  me  on  this 
wild-goose  chase.  I  have  lost  my  patron,  who  will  most  surely  be 
hanged,  and  drawn,  and  quartered  ;  and  now  I  have  lost  my  mistress 
too.  Bobbed  and  murdered  shall  we  surely  be  ;  but  not  you,  believe 
me — not  before  they  have  first  killed  me.' 

He  was  cold  and  faint  for  want  of  food,  which  made  him  afraid  ; 
but  yet  he  was  resolved  to  sell  our  lives  dear.  We  cautiously  ad- 
vanced in  the  direction  of  the  lights,  which  were  not  flickering, 
like  goblin  fires,  but  steady.  I  walked  beside  him,  leading  the  horse. 
When,  presently,  we  came  to  the  spot,  we  discovered  that  the  lights 
came  from  three  or  four  great  covered  carts,  such  as  gipsies  use. 
Mr.  Hilyard  shouted  aloud  for  joy. 

'  We  are  safe  now,'  he  said  ;  '  these  people  are  true  Romany.' 

It  is  truly  wonderful  to  relate  that  these  outcasts,  whom  the 
world  regards  with  so  much  scorn,  who  have  no  knowledge  at  all  of 
religion,  duty,  or  morals,  who  live  by  pilfering  and  plundering, 
who,  when  caught  loitering  in  a  town,  are  whipped  and  clapped  in 
the  stocks,  received  us  with  the  greatest  kindness  as  soon  as  they 
discovered  that  Mr.  Hilyard  could  talk  to  them  in  their  own  lan- 
guage. 

The  women  took  off  my  cold  and  wet  stockings  and  shoes,  bathed 
my  feet  in  hot  water,  brought  me  a  pannikin  of  hot  broth  made 
with  I  know  not  what  meats,  but  comforting  ;  and  then,  because  I 
was  no  longer  able  to  hold  up  my  head,  they  made  me  a  bed  of 
blankets  on  the  floor  of  a  cart,  and  so  I  slept  till  morning.  Mr. 
Hilyard,  I  learned  afterv/ards,  was  not  so  weary  but  he  could  sit  up 
and  feast  and  drink  whisky  with  them,  and  talk  to  them  in  their 
own  tongue,  so  that  they  took  him  for  one  of  themselves,  only  dis- 
guised for  sinful  purposes  of  his  own. 

We  parted  from  these  humble  friends  with  gratitude.  I  have 
never  seen  them  since,  but  for  their  sake  I  regard  this  unhappy 
race  of  wanderers  with  compassion,  and  never  see  a  caravan  or  a 
camp  without  giving  something  to  the  women,  and  a  word  of 
counsel,  which  I  doubt  is  thrown  away,  unto  the  men. 

'  I  have  heard  news,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard.  '  These  people  were,  it 
seems,  following  the  army  when,  like  a  mad  dog  which  hath  no 
purpose,  we  marched  up  and  down  the  Border.  They  picked  up  all 
the  things  which  we  threw  away  or  left  behind,  and  now  have 
stored  up,  against  the  time  when  they  can  find  a  market,  a  great 
quantity  of  guns  and  pikes  gathered  on  the  ground  after  each  day's 
camp.  Some  of  them  came  into  Preston  with  us,  but  scoured, 
like  me,  after  the  surrender ;  some  stayed  with  the  enemy.  One  of 
them  was  sent  by  Lord  Derwentwater  to  Dilston.  The  Countess 
instantly  put  together  all  the  papers  she  could  find,  and  gave  them 
in  charge  to  one  of  the  cottagers  whom  she  can  trust.  Then,  with 
her  children,  she  started  for  London.' 

Alas  I  those  tender  children  I 


TO  LONDON. 


223 


*  Lady  Nithsdale/  he  went  on,  '  is  also  upon  the  road.  Heavens  ! 
it  makes  one's  heart  to  bleed  only  to  think  of  the  anxious  ladies 
who  are  toiling  along  this  dreadful  road  amid  these  pitiless  snows  ; 
and  of  the  innocent  children  who  will  be  robbed  of  their  inherit- 
ance— and  for  what — for  what  ?  Will  there  ever  come  a  time  when 
mankind  will  cease  to  bring  ruin,  death,  and  misery  upon  their 
heads  for  the  sake  of  princes — yea,  and  of  princes  who  deserve 
nothing  at  their  hands  but  contempt  and  deposition  ?' 

He  then  began  to  harangue  upon  the  wickedness,  the  tyranny, 
and  the  cruelty  of  kings  from  Nero  to  Louis  le  Grand  ;  I  think 
that  his  discourse  lasted  the  whole  day,  and  that  he  omitted  no  par- 
ticulars of  royal  crimes.  As  to  his  charges  against  kings  and  sovereign 
princes  I  have  nothing  to  say,  except  that  we  must  take  into  account 
the  fact  that  they  are  but  men,  and  exposed  to  great  temptations. 
Perhaps  some  day  the  world  may  happen  upon  a  race  of  virtuous 
princes,  in  answer  to  the  prayers  which  loyal  people  so  continually 
send  up  to  the  Throne.  But  to  rail  at  kings  as  if  we  could  do 
without  them  is  to  rail  at  a  Divinely-appointed  institution,  and,  there- 
fore, hath  in  it  something  of  blasphemy,  for  which  I  rebuked  this  too 
daring  speaker.  But  he  laughed,  asking  what  I  knew  of  Divine 
Right.  Now,  when  you  ask  a  woman  concerning  the  foundations 
of  her  faith,  you  put  a  question  which  she  cannot  answer,  because 
she  must  needs  believe  what  she  has  been  taught.  But  if  there 
were  to  be  no  kings,  what  would  become  of  the  virtue  of  loyalty, 
and  for  what  purpose  was  it  implanted  in  the  heart  of  man  ?  Strange 
that  so  good  a  Tory  as  Mr.  Hilyard  had  always  been  in  Northum- 
berland, should  become  every  day,  the  nearer  we  got  to  London, 
more  of  a  Whig  ! 

I  think,  however,  that  Mr.  Hilyard's  peevishness  about  kings 
sprang  from  the  bitter  weather,  which  made  his  nose  so  blue  and 
his  hands  so  cold  that  he  must  needs  find  vent  in  ill-temper  against 
something.  Surely  there  never  was  so  cold  a  winter  or  such  dread- 
ful weather  for  those  poor  ladies  who,  like  myself,  were  travelling 
up  to  London  on  behalf  of  the  prisoners.  When  we  reached  York, 
after  six  days  of  the  greatest  hardships  that  I  ever  endured,  I  was 
fain  get  to  bed,  and  stayed  there  from  Saturday  afternoon  till 
Monday  morning.  Here  Mr.  Hilyard  resolved  to  put  aside  the 
Northumbrian  way  of  speech,  and  became  a  Yorkshireman.  No 
one,  however,  suspected  us  or  asked  any  questions  ;  nor  was  any 
insult  offered  to  me,  as  Mr.  Hilyard  feared  might  happen.  I  think, 
for  my  own  part,  that  the  common  sort  of  English,  everywhere,  as 
well  as  in  Northumberland,  though  rude  and  rough,  do  not  insult 
women.  This  savage  vice  is  reserved  for  gentlemen  ;  not  the 
meaner  sort  of  men,  but  those  who  scour  the  streets  at  night,  and 
intercept  solitary  passengers  in  unfrequented  parts. 

At  York  Mr.  Hilyard  cast  about  for  a  waggon  which  might  be 
going  to  London,  but  there  was  none  ;  the  weather  being  so  bad 
that  no  cart  or  waggon  could  take  the  road.  While  we  were  there 
Mr.  Hilyard  learned  that  the  unfortunate  Countess  of  Nithsdale, 
going  up  to  London  on  the  same  errand  as  ourselves,  would  not 


224 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


stay  for  the  weather  to  break,  and  a  coach  to  start,  but  was  riding 
on  with  all  speed. 

*  She  is  a  great  lady,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  daughter  of  Lord  Powis, 
whom  King  James  at  St.  Germain's  made  a  duke  ;  one  of  her  sisters 
is  the  wife  of  Lord  Montague  ;  she  hath  cousins  on  both  sides,  yet 
I  doubt  if  they  will  avail  her  aught.' 

*  If  she  have  so  many  cousins,'  I  said,  ^  and  yet  cannot  wait  for 
the  weather  to  break,  how  much  more  should  I  push  on,  who  have 
so  few  to  help  !' 

He  made  no  objection  to  this,  and  we  left  York  the  next  morn- 
ing, though  the  snow  was  still  so  deep  that  not  only  the  stage,  but 
even  the  post  was  stopped.  But  there  was  one  happiness,  that  the 
road  gi^ows  easier  and  smoother  with  every  mile  that  one  gets 
nearer  London,  and  there  are  many  more  inns  of  all  kinds,  especially 
of  those  frequented  by  cattle- drovers,  waggoners,  carters,  carriers, 
and  handicraftsmen  going  from  town  to  town  upon  the  way  ;  there- 
fore suitable  for  a  blacksmith  going  to  London  looking  for  work, 
with  his  sister  looking  for  respectable  service.  These  places  were 
rough,  and  the  food  was  coarse,  like  the  talk  ;  yet  they  were  safe 
for  us.  Now  I  remarked,  not  once  or  twice,  but  everywhere  along 
the  road,  that  the  common  people,  who  talked  about  nothing  but 
the  Rebellion,  were  one  and  all  hot  for  the  Protestant  Succession. 
I  heard  it  everywhere  declared  that  the  intention  of  the  Prince  was 
to  introduce  the  Pope  and  the  Icloman  religion,  with  the  Inquisition, 
the  rack,  stake,  thumbscrew,  and  all  the  tortures  of  which  they  had 
heard.  As  soon  as  he  was  firmly  on  the  throne  all  good  Protestants 
would  be  sent  to  the  flames,  after  having  their  limbs  cruelly  racked 
and  twisted.  I  know  not  what  may  have  been  the  opinions  of  the 
country  gentlefolk,  but  as  regards  the  common  country  people  there 
could  be  no  doubt  whatever  on  this  point.  Nothing  could  be  held 
in  greater  abhorrence  by  them  than  a  Popish  sovereign.  I  shuddered, 
too,  at  their  bloodthirstiness.  The  gallows  was  too  good  for  such 
traitors  and  villains  as  Lord  Derwentwater  and  General  Forster 
the  most  exquisite  tortures  should  be  prepared  for  them,  ever} 
man  loudly  expressing  his  willingness  to  administer  them,  so  that  it 
was  shocking  to  hear  them  talk.  And  then  most  pious  ejaculation^ 
for  the  safety  of  Mother  Church  interlarded  with  the  most  des- 
perately profane  oaths  !  Mr.  Hilyard  seemed  to  take  a  pleasure  in  ( 
encouraging  this  cruel  and  sanguinary  talk  ;  and,  when  I  reproached 
him  with  it,  excused  himself  partly  on  the  ground  that  he  dared 
not  even  be  suspected  of  Jacobite  principles,  lest  all  should  be  dis- 
covered, and  therefore  he  fell  in  with  their  mood  ;  and  next,  that 
many ;  of  those  who  were  loudest  in  their  talk  were,  he  thought, 
secretly  on  the  Prince's  side,  but  afraid  of  betraying  themselves, 
find  that  it  amused  him  to  watch  their  anxiety  to  seem  on  the  safe 
side.  *  But,'  he  said,  '  doth  not  this  show  the  madness  of  our  late 
attempt  ?  What  is  it  like — and  on  which  side — the  voice  of  the 
country  of  which  we  have  heard  so  much  ?  Where  are  those  hearts 
which  were  said  to  be  beating  for  the  Prince  ?' 

He  could  not  contain  his  indignation  and  wrath  at  the  folly  which 


TO  LONDON. 


225 


had  plunged  us  all  in  such  misery,  but  inveighed  without  ceasing  at 
the  cruelty  and  recklessness  of  those  in  London  who  caused  the 
whole  business.  But  when  he  perceived  that  his  words  sank  so 
deep  in  my  heart,  that  I  was  falling  into  a  kind  of  melancholy  or 
despair,  he  changed  the  talk,  and  would  speak  no  more  in  this 
gloomy  way  of  the  rising  or  its  consequences.  On  the  contrary,  he 
assumed  the  bearing  and  manner  of  one  who  is  on  a  pleasant  journey. 
Though  each  step  Avas  in  three  feet  of  snow,  and  we  made  no  more, 
but  sometimes  much  less,  than  two  miles  in  an  hour,  he  laughed 
and  sang  as  he  went,  insomuch  that  I  should  have  thought  him 
wanting  in  sensibility  had  I  not  perceived  that  he  was  playing  a 
part  in  order  to  divert  my  thoughts.  And  always — can  I  ever  be 
sufficiently  grateful  to  him,  or  pray  earnestly  enough  for  his  spiri- 
tual and  temporal  good  ? — careful  for  such  comfort  and  alleviation 
as  he  could  procure  for  me,  bargaining  when  we  stopped  for  a  good 
bed  for  me,  and  if  possible  a  bed  in  a  room  by  myself  with  no  other 
women,  because  these  were  sometimes  rough  and  rude  ;  and  at 
York  he  bought  a  great  soft  rug,  which  he  tied  upon  the  saddle  in 
such  a  way  that  he  could  fold  it  over  and  wrap  my  feet,  which 
before  had  been  almost  frozen.  He  carried  with  him  always  a 
bottle  of  cordial,  or  strong  waters,  with  which  to  refresh  me  (and 
himself  also)  when  I  was  faint.  As  for  the  fatigue  of  the  journey, 
that  had  to  be  borne  with  patience,  but  the  suffering — nay,  the 
torture — he  endured  for  himself  without  repining,  though  he  re- 
lieved it  for  me  !  Truth  to  say,  it  was  a  fearful  journey  ;  for  the 
sun  never  once  showed  his  face,  nor  did  the  snow  cease  falling,  or 
the  frost  cease  to  continue,  or  the  cold  wind  of  the  north  to  change. 
All  the  towns  were  alike,  and  every  village  a  copy  of  the  village  we 
passed  two  hours  before — covered  up  with  deep  drifts  of  snow  ;  so 
that  not  only  did  it  seem  to  me  as  if  I  must  spend  the  rest  of  my 
life  in  plodding  through  the  snow,  but  as  if  I  had  never  done  any- 
thing else,  the  former  part  of  it  having  been  a  dream.  Further,  I 
could  not  but  feel,  which  Mr.  Hilyard  had  put  into  my  mind,  as  if 
Heaven  itself  was  showing  its  displeasure  at  our  enterprise.  Could 
the  Lord,  after  all,  be  on  the  side  of  a  Usurper  ?  If  so,  where 
was  the  Right  Divine  of  which  we  had  been  told  so  much  ? 

'  It  is  by  travelling,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard  cheerfully,  diverting  my 
thoughts,  and  pretending  to  enjoy  the  journey,  '  that  we  learn  the 
world  and  watch  the  manners  of  men.  I  have  always  envied  the 
great  travellers  of  whom  we  read  :  Herodotus,  Ulysses,  Marcus 
Polus  Yenetus,  Christopher  Columbus,  Sir  Francis  Drake,  and 
others,  though  none  of  them,  I  think,  had  worse  weather  and  worse 
roads  than  we.  Therefore  it  is  the  greater  merit  to  bear  up  cheer- 
fully and  keep  a  brave  heart  as  you  do,  Miss  Dorothy ' — here  I 
lifted  my  head  and  pushed  back  my  hood  a  little.  Alas  !  the  same 
falling  of  the  snow,  the  same  drifts  against  the  trunks,  the  boughs 
drooping  with  the  weight — when  would  this  journey  end  ?  '  Like 
them,'  Mr.  Hilyard  continued,  '  I  would  take  ship  and  sail  for  dis- 
tant islands,  and  resolve  the  many  doubts  which  beset  those  who 
would  construct  the  inap^a  mundi.    Perhaps  upon  the  way  I  should 


226 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


encounter  Elias  Artifex,  the  Wandering  Jew,  who  must  be  by  this 
time  an  accomplished  geographer.  Then  I  would  learn  whether 
there  be  a  high  rock  of  loadstone,  or  whether  it  be  the  pole  star 
which  causeth  the  compass  to  point  one  way  ;  where  is  the  king- 
dom of  Prester  John  ;  whether  the  story  of  the  great  bird  Rucke 
in  Madagascar  is  true,  and  if  he  can  of  a  verity  carry  an  elephant  ; 
what  is  the  cause  of  the  Nile's  annual  rising,  what  of  the  currents 
in  the  Atlantic  ;  what  is  the  outlet  of  the  Caspian  Sea  ;  whether 
Mount  Caucasus  be  higher  than  the  Pico  of  Teneriffe  ;  whither  go 
the  birds  in  winter,  and  if  it  be  true  that  in  Muscovy  is  a  race  of 
men  who  sleep  all  the  winter  like  dormice  ;  where  was  the  site  of 
the  earthly  Paradise — with  many  other  great  and  important  ques- 
tions not  to  be  solved  except  by  travelling  to  those  places.' 

And  so  on,  talking  continually,  and  forcing  me  to  listen,  lest  per- 
chance I  might  fall  into  that  kind  of  stupor  of  which  during  those 
days  he  was  very  much  afraid. 

In  a  word,  it  was  the  most  frightful  journey  ever  woman  under- 
took. Even  now,  I  dream  of  it  sometimes — and  in  my  waking 
moments  it  seems  to  have  been  a  dream — and  always  along  that 
white,  silent  and  terrible  road,  there  was  present  before  my  eyes 
the  vision  of  a  scaffold  and  a  block,  with  the  glittering  steel  of  the 
axe,  and  in  my  mind  the  story  of  that  Israeli tish  woman  who  spread 
sackcloth  upon  the  rock,  and  watched  there  day  and  night,  so  that 
neither  the  beasts  of  the  field  nor  the  fowls  of  the  air  should  touch 
the  hanging  corpses  of  her  sons. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

LORD  CREWE. 

So,  at  last,  we  came  to  Stene,  Lord  Crewe's  place  in  Northampton- 
shire. 

Now,  while  we  drew  near  to  the  park-gates,  and  were  thinking 
hoYv^  best  to  convey  a  message  to  her  ladyship,  there  passed  out  a 
gentleman  of  grave  and  reverend  appearance,  in  cassock  and  full 
wig,  whom  I  judged  might  be  in  the  Bishop's  service.  So  I  stopped 
him,  and  asked  him  civilly  if  he  was  perchance  his  lordship's  chap- 
lain. 

'  I  am,'  he  replied,  in  some  surprise  at  the  question.  *  Why,  my 
good  girl  ?' 

'  Tell  him,  Mr.  Hilyard,'  I  said.    '  Tell  him  all.' 

'  Sir,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  this  young  lady  is  not  what  she  seems. 
She  is  Miss  Dorothy  Forster,  sister  of  Mr.  Thomas  Forster  the 
younger,  who  lately  commanded  the  rebel  army,  and  niece  of  Lady 
Crewe.  We  are  on  our  way  to  London  ;  but  first  she  would  have 
speech,  if  it  may  be,  with  her  ladyship.' 

'  What !'  cried  the  clergyman.  '  Have  you  not  heard  ?  Good 
Heaven  !    Her  ladyship  hath  been  dead  these  six  weeks  and  more !' 

Dead  !  ^  Lady  Crewe  was  dead  !    Then  was  I  friendless  indeed. 

'  She  died,'  he  went  on,  '  of  a  fit  or  convulsion,  caused,  we  are 
assured,  by  her  anxiety  on  learning  that  a  warrant  was  out  for  the 


LORD  CREWE. 


227 


apprehension  of  her  nephew.  She  never  learned  the  news  of  his 
rising,  which  was  kept  from  her  by  order  of  my  lord,  for  fear  of 
greater  anxiety.    She  died  on  the  16th  day  of  October.' 

'  The  stars  in  their  courses  fight  against  us,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  in 
consternation.  *  Terror  ubique  tremor,  timor  undique  et  undique 
teiTor.' 

'  Who  are  you,  sir,  pray  ?'  asked  the  chaplain,  astonished  to  hear 
Latin  from  the  mouth  of  a  blacksmith. 

'  I  was  formerly  Mr.  Forster's  tutor,  and  have  since  been  his 
steward.  I  am  in  disguise,  partly  because  I  also  was  with  the  in- 
surgents, and  am  not  desirous  of  being  taken.  But,  sir,  could  we 
speak  with  his  lordship  ?' 

'  My  lord  is  much  broken  by  the  death  of  her  ladyship.  Yet,  I 
doubt  not  that  he  will  receive  her  niece.' 

He  took  us  into  the  park,  and  so  into  the  hall  of  the  house  (a 
great  and  stately  house  it  was,  though  not  so  fine  as  that  of  Bishop's 
Auckland  or  the  Castle  of  Durham),  and  begged  me  to  wait  a  few 
moments  while  he  sought  his  lordship. 

Lord  Crewe  was  sitting  in  his  library  in  a  high-backed  armchair, 
a  book  on  the  table  beside  him,  and  a  great  coal-fire  burning. 

*  Come,  child  !'  he  said,  holding  out  both  hands  ;  '  come,  kiss 
me  for  thy  dear  aunt's  sake  !  Thou  hast  heard  my  irreparable 
loss.' 

*  I  have  just  learned  it,  my  lord,  to  my  infinite  sorrow.  For,  oh  ! 
I  have  lost  her  to  whom  I  looked  for  help  at  this  moment,  and  she 
is  gone  ;  and  I  may  now  lose  my  brother,  who  is  a  prisoner,  and  on 
his  way  to  London  to  be  tried.'  And  so,  weeping  and  sobbing,  I 
fell  at  his  lordship's  knees. 

'Ay,'  he  said,  lajdng  his  hand  upon  my  head,  'weep  and  cry, 
child  !  Youth  hath  tears  ;  age  hath  none.  Life  hath  nothing  left 
for  me  :  I  have  lost  all,  my  dear.  Thou  art  strangely  like  her  when 
she  was  young.  Stay  with  me  awhile,  and  let  me  comfort  myself 
by  merely  looking  upon  thy  face.  Nay,  I  have  heard  of  thy  mis- 
fortunes. Tom  is  a  prisoner.  Fools  all !  fools  all !  Yet  I  warned 
him  ;  I  admonished  him.  This  it  is  not  to  listen  to  the  counsel  of 
an  old  man.    What  would  you  do  for  him  ?' 

'  With  permission,  my  lord,  we  would  go  to  London  and  try  to 
save  him,'  Mr.  Hilyard  replied. 

'  Who  are  you,  sir  ?'  he  asked.  '  Oh,  I  remember  now.  It  is  the 
Terra?  Filius.  And  how,  sir,  doth  so  great  and  powerful  a  man  as 
you  propose  to  tear  these  rebels  from  the  grasp  of  Justice  ?' 

'  As  yet,  my  lord,  we  know  not ;  but  we  hope  that  a  way  will  be 
opened.  There  are,  first,  the  chances  in  our  favour.  The  Court 
may  take  a  lenient  view,  seeing  that  so  many  are  involved  ;  or  there 
is  the  clemency  of  the  King.' 

'  Pass  on  to  the  next  chance,'  said  the  Bishop.  *  Build  not  on  the 
clemency  of  Kings.' 

'  Why,  my  lord,  if  he  is  to  be  tried,  there  is  not  much  more  to  be 
said.  But  perhaps  he  may  not  be  tried  at  all.  A  pardon  might  be 
procured  by  friends  in  high  place.' 

15—2 


228 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


*  In  this  matter,  sir,  look  not  to  me  for  help.  I  am  now  old.  All 
my  friends,  if  I  have  any  left,  are  on  the  other  side.' 

'  Then,  my  lord,  saving  your  presence,  there  are  juries  to  be  in- 
fluenced ' 

*  They  will  not  be  so  foolish  as  to  try  them  by  a  jury/ 

*  Next,  there  are,  my  lord,  asking  your  pardon,  guards  to  be  cor- 
rupted, as  has  been  done  in  many  famous  examples.' 

'  Tush — tush  !  tell  me  not  of  these  secrets.  You  will  want  money, 
sir,  and  much  money.  Man,  let  me  look  at  you  full  in  the  face. 
Your  eyes  seem  honest.  In  these  times,  and  in  such  a  service,  the 
scarcity  of  honest  men  is  lamentably  felt.  Yet  you  seem  honest, 
and  you  have  proved  faithful.  Suppose,  Dorothy,  child,  I  were  to 
find  you  the  money — doth  Tom  trust  this  man  ?  To  be  sure,  he 
would  trust  any  man  who  offered.  It  is  their  easy  temper,  not  their 
ill-fate,  which  hath  ruined  the  Forsters.' 

*  We  have  trusted  him,  my  lord,  for  fifteen  years.' 

*  Look  ye,  sirrah  !'  his  lordship  shook  his  long  and  lean  forefinger 
in  the  face  of  Mr.  Hilyard.  'Look  ye,  if  you  now  betray  the  trust, 
the  malediction  of  the  Church  itself  shall  follow  you  to  your  death 
— and  after,'  he  added  solemnly.  Then  he  paused.  '  To  do  these 
things,'  he  presently  went  on,  '  may  require  much  money.    He  must 

be  defended  if  he  be  brought  to  trial :  if  he  never  come  to  trial  

How  much  money  have  you  ?' 

'  We  had  twenty-four  guineas  when  we  left  Blanchland.  We 
have  spent  six  on  the  road.  There  are  eighteen  guineas  left.  It  is 
all  our  stock.' 

' Eighteen  guineas !'  my  lord  laughed.  'It  is  a  goodly  stock. 
Now,  sir,  I  will  give  you  a  letter  to  my  agent  and  factor  in  London. 
He  will  provide  you  with  all  you  want — understand,  all !  Do  not 
be  afraid  to  ask.  My  wife,  the  most  beautiful  and  the  most  faithful 
woman  in  the  world,  is  dead  :  alas  !  I,  too,  shall  follow  soon  ;  my 
days  will  be  few,  and  full  of  sorrow.  I  am  old — I  am  eighty-two 
years  of  age — my  work  is  done — I  have  now  nothing  left  but  medi- 
tation and  prayer.'  He  went  on  in  this  way  so  that  I  thought  his 
mind  was  wandering  with  age  and  trouble  ;  but  he  did  not  forget 
what  he  designed  to  say.  '  Therefore,  because  she  would  have 
wished  it,  her  nephew,  who  hath  proved  a  fool  and  a  companion  of 
fools,  shall  not  suffer,  if  I  can  help  it,  the  just  consequence  of  his 
folly.  Go,  then,  to  this  man  of  business,  and  let  him  know  who  thou 
art ;  give  him  my  letter,  and,  when  the  time  comes,  ask  boldly  for 
as  much  as  will  be  wanted — nay,  if  it  cost  ten  or  twenty  thousand 
pounds  he  will  give  it  thee.' 

*  Oh,  my  lord !'  Mr.  Hilyard  fairly  burst  into  tears.  *  This  is 
princely  generosity.  I  hoped  for  nothing  more  than  a  help  to  main- 
tain my  mistress  in  London.  Why,  with  such  help  as  this,  his 
honour  is  as  good  as  free  already.'  He  knelt  and  kissed  his  lord- 
ship's hand. 

'  Go,  fellow,'  said  the  Bishop,  not  unmoved.  '  But  remember  lest 
they  say,  as  was  said  to  Peter,  "  Thou  also  art  one  of  them."  Keep 
thine  own  neck  out  of  the  halter,  if  thou  wouldst  save  Tom  For-- 


LORD  CREWE, 


229 


sterns.  And,  as  regards  the  money,  waste  not :  yet  spare  not. 
Enough  said.  And  now,  Dorothy,  if  thou  wilt  stay  awhile  in  my 
poor  house,  let  me  hare  thee  clad  in  habits  more  suitable  than 
these  ' 

'  I  thank  yon,  my  lord,  for  all  your  kindness ;  but  I  cannot  rest 
day  or  night  until  I  am  in  London.' 

So  we  took  our  letter,  with  a  full  purse  of  money  besides,  and 
receiving  the  Bishop's  blessing,  went  on  our  way.  My  aunt  was 
dead  ;  but  her  affection  for  her  own  family  survived  in  the  remem- 
brance of  her  husband. 

I  never  saw  so  great  a  change  in  any  man  as  was  wrought  in  Mr. 
Hilyard  by  the  prospect  of  this  money.  He  capered  and  leaped,  he 
danced  and  sang  upon  the  heavy  road. 

'  Why,'  he  said,  'we  are  made  men  now  !  Let  us  rejoice.  Let  us 
concert  our  plans.' 

He  devised  a  thousand  plans,  but  none  of  them  suited,  and  he 
began  again  every  hour  with  a  new  one.  Most,  indeed,  seemed  to 
me  as  unreal  and  improbable  as  the  intrigue  of  a  comedy  or  the 
plot  of  a  tragedy.  He  seemed  to  multiply  difficulties  in  order  to 
get  rid  of  them  by  sudden  surprises.  Nevertheless  it  pleased  him, 
and  it  beguiled  the  journey,  which  continued  as  cold  as  before,  but 
was  not  so  miserable,  because  we  now  had  money  and  could  dwell 
upon  the  future  with  a  little  hope.  Indeed,  it  passed  all  under- 
standing to  think  that  I  started  on  this  long  and  costly  journey  with 
such  an  end  in  view,  and  no  more  in  money  than  twenty-four 
guineas !  But  then  I  only  knew,  concerning  money,  that,  in 
Northumberland,  with  a  guinea  one  can  keep  a  household  for  nigh 
upon  a  month.    As  for  money  of  my  own,  I  never  had  any. 

'  With  money,'  went  on  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  dungeons  are  opened, 
prison-bars  removed,  and  captives  set  free.  With  money,  justice 
may  be  bought,  as  well  as  injustice.  With  money,  good  may  be 
accomplished  as  well  as  evil.  Why,  the  history  of  the  world  is  the 
history  of  bribing.    I  could  narrate  endless  examples  ' 

He  did  ;  and  during  several  days  he  instructed  me  in  the  part 
which  bribes  had  played  in  the  progress  of  the  world.  So  that  in 
the  end  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  nothing,  good  or  bad,  had  ever  been 
accomplished  without  a  bribe  and  a  pretence.  But  such  knowledge 
doth  not  tend  to  edification. 

It  was  on  the  9th  day  of  December  that  we  drew  near  to  London. 
Now,  as  we  walked  along  the  road  we  became  aware  of  a  great  stir 
and  bustle,  many  men  and  women  hastening  southward,  the  same 
way  as  we  were  going,  as  if  impelled  by  desire  to  see  some  wonderful 
show.    The  road  w  as  also  covered  with  waggons,  carts,  and  horsemen. 

'  This,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  with  pride,  'is  what  happeneth  daily  in 
the  great  roads  which  lead  to  London.' 

'  Yes,'  I  said.    '  But  why  do  all  the  people  wear  favours  ?' 

This  he  did  not  know  ;  but  he  asked  one,  and  presently  came  back 
to  me  with  perturbed  countenance.  'Miss  Dorothy,'  he  whispered, 
*  we  are  none  too  soon.  This  day  the  prisoners  will  be  marched  into 
London.' 


230 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


It  was  the  very  day  when  the  procession  of  prisoners  arrived. 
We  were  to  see  them  pass,  willy-nilly ;  for  there  was  no  turning 
back  without  exciting  distrust,  and  the  people  were  very  fierce  and 
angry.  Mr.  Hilyard  even  bought  a  favour  for  himself  and  another 
for  me,  to  avert  suspicion.  Thus  decorated,  we  followed  with  the 
stream  of  country  people  who  flocked  along  the  road.  They  were 
all  going,  we  learned,  to  a  place  called  Highgate,  where  there  is  a 
lofty  hill  from  which  London  maybe  viewed  (they  say  Whittington, 
while  sitting  here  upon  the  grass,  heard  the  bells  of  Bow  calling  him 
back)  ;  and  they  were  flocking  to  see  the  most  wonderful  show  for 
many  a  long  year,  namely,  three  hundred  English  gentlemen  led  in 
triumph  along  the  way  for  the  mob  to  jeer  at  and  insult.  Truly  a 
magnanimous  thing  for  a  victor  and  a  Christian  King  to  command  ! 

If  the  country  people  came  to  Highgate  in  their  smocks,  the  town 
people  came  out  in  their  greasy  coats  ;  there  v/ere  thousands  on  the 
hill  and  on  the  slopes  ;  where  the  road  sloped  downward  through 
hedges  and  trees,  now  white  and  heavy  with  snow,  we  saw  the 
mighty  multitude  rolling  to  and  fro  like  waves  near  the  shore,  and 
heard  them  roaring  like  the  waves  that  beat  upon  the  rocks.  Some 
standing  near  us  said  aloud  that  the  prisoners  would  never  reach 
the  town,  but  be  torn  to  pieces  upon  the  road. 

'  Take  courage,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard.  '  Look !  there  is  a  detachment 
of  Guards  to  convoy  them  safe,  let  the  mob  roar  as  loud  as  they 
please.' 

Presently  I  perceived  the  melancholy  procession  slowly  coming 
towards  us.  Alas  !  alas  !  Was  this  the  end  ?  Was  it  for  this  that 
my  lady  flung  down  her  fan,  and  I  with  joyful  heart  applauded  and 
approved  the  deed  ?  They  defiled  slowly  past  us,  riding  two  abreast, 
and  divided  into  four  detachments  or  companies.  The  arms  of  every 
man  were  pinioned  behind  him  ;  his  horse  was  led  by  a  foot  soldier 
cariying  a  musket  with  fixed  bayonet ;  each  division  was  preceded 
by  a  troop  of  horse  with  drawn  swords,  their  drums  insulting  the 
unhappy  prisoners  by  beating  a  triumphal  march  in  derision. 

As  this  miserable  procession  marched  past  the  people  crowded  in 
on  every  side,  crying  out  the  most  frightful  imprecations,  of  which 
*  Papists !  Bloody  Catholics  and  murderers !'  were  the  least  injurious. 
Most  of  the  gentlemen  thus  insulted  rode  by  proudly  with  head 
erect,  as  if  they  were  in  a  triumphal  procession.  Was  it  possible,  I 
asked  myself,  that  Englishmen  could  thus  come  out  to  insult  the 
fallen  ? 

In  the  last  division  rode  the  English  noblemen,  and  with  them 
my  unhappy  brother.  He  sat  with  hanging  head,  his  hands  tied 
behind  him,  his  cheek  pale.  Alas !  poor  Tom !  What  were  his 
thoughts  ?  *  He  knows  not,'  whispered  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  of  the  letter 
in  my  pocket.'  Beside  him  rode  Mr.  Patten,  his  chaplain..  He,  for 
his  part,  seemed  proud  of  his  position  ;  he  looked  about  him  cheer- 
fully, and  nodded  his  head  to  the  crowd,  which  assailed  him  with 
the  vilest  language.  '  He  is  a  brave  man,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard.  *  It 
repents  me  that  I  called  him  Creeping  Bob.  I  have  forgiven  him 
his  Oxford  business.'    As  for  Lord  Dorwentwater,  he  sat  upright — 


LORD  CREWE. 


his  eyes  bright,  his  cheek  flushed,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor 
to  the  left. 

'  Draw  your  hood  closer,'  Mr.  Hilyard  whispered  ;  '  this  rabble 
must  not  see  your  tears.' 

When  the  last  of  the  Dragoons  who  brought  up  the  rear  had 
gone,  the  mob  crowded  in  and  ran  along  the  road  behind.  There 
were  left  only  the  decent  sort.  One  of  those,  dressed  soberly  in  a 
brown  coat,  said  to  me,  gravely  : 

'  Young  woman,  this  is  a  sorry  sight,  but  yet  a  joyful  for  honest 
folk.  Eemember  that  these  men  are  the  enemies  of  freedom.  I 
desire  not  the  blood  of  any  man  ;  but  I  pray  above  all  things  for 
continuance  of  liberty,  especially  of  conscience  and  opinion.  Keep 
thy  tears,  then,  for  a  better  cause.' 

'  Alas,  sir !'  I  could  not  refrain  from  saying,  *  what  if  a  woman 
have  friends — a  brother,  even — among  them  ?' 

'  Madam ' — he  took  oE  his  hat — '  I  ask  your  pardon,  and  I  pray 
for  a  happy  deliverance  for  your  friend — or  brother.' 

He  went  away,  but  this  imprudence  frightened  Mr.  Hilyard 
mightily,  and  he  hastened  to  push  on  down  the  hill. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN  LONDON. 

In  this  way  we  came  to  town,  where  my  first  night  was  full  of 
dreadful  dreams,  and  my  sleep  troubled  with  the  sight  of  the  poor 
prisoners  marching  along  the  road  amid  the  derision  and  the  hoot- 
ings  of  the  mob.  But  at  the  end  of  the  road  there  was  a  black 
scaffold  and  a  gibbet  beside  it,  with  hanging  ropes  ;  a  block,  and  a 
man  with  an  axe  :  and  beside  me  stood  no  other  than  my  maid, 
J enny  Lee,  saying,  as  she  pointed  to  Tom,  '  G-reat  name  ;  great 
blame,'  as  she  had  said  on  the  Eve  of  St.  John. 

The  place  where  I  was  lodged  was  in  a  street  near  Drury  Lane, 
called  Great  Wyld  Street,  at  the  house  of  one  John  Purdy,  a  cousin 
of  John  Purdy,  the  Bamborough  blacksmith,  himself  born  at  Lucker, 
but  come  to  London  to  seek  his  fortune  in  that  trade,  and  knowing 
me  very  well  when  I  was  little.  He  was  married  to  a  buxom  young 
London  woman,  and  had  a  family  of  four  or  five  children,  being  a 
thriving  tradesman.  His  wife,  a  decent,  kind-hearted  body,  though 
a  stickler  for  the  Protestant  Succession,  and  of  the  Independent 
sect,  was  curious  at  first  to  look  upon  the  sister  of  the  Greneral 
Forster  of  whose  doings  everyone  had  lately  heard  so  much  (the 
people,  I  know  not  why,  called  him  the  '  Man  under  the  Rose,'  and 
he  was  popularly  supposed  to  be  the  chief  mover  and  agent  in  the 
whole  affair). 

*  Sometimes,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  ^popular  beliefs  make  history. 
Can  it  be  that  Catiline  was  only  an  instrument,  and  Spartacus  a 
tool  ?  Will  his  honour,  the  dupe  of  crafty  and  designing  men,  go 
down  to  posterity  as  the  fabricator  of  the  whole  business  ?' 

In  the  morning  the  good  woman  made  a  hundred  excuses  to  come 
into  my  room  :  she  had  a  log  of  ship-timber  fresh  come  up  from 


232 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


Deptf  ord  ;  she  would  ask  my  pleasure  concerning  dinner  and  supper ; 
she  could  get  me  some  fine  fresh  fish — and  always  with  something 
about  the  prisoners.  'They  were  followed  with  shouting  and 
curses,'  she  said,  in  her  desire  to  comfort  me,  '  all  through  the  town 
and  as  far  as  the  Tower,  where  they  have  placed  the  lords  ;  they 
sang  songs  running  along  beside  them,  and  dangled  warming-pans 
out  of  the  windows.  As  for  Lord  Der  went  water,  they  say  he  is  as 
handsome  as  the  day,  and  never  lowered  his  head  or  made  the  least 
sign  that  he  heard  a  word  ;  he  might  have  been  going  to  his  wedding 
instead  of  his  death,  the  poor  young  gentleman !  As  for  the  gen- 
tlemen, some  of  them  are  in  Xewgate.  'Tis  a  pity  !  Mercy,  they 
say,  will  be  shown  to  none,  but  all  will  be  hanged.  Oh  dear !  Yes, 
hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered,  and  their  legs  and  heads  set  up  on 
Temple  Bar.    A  thousand  pities,  to  be  sure  !' 

It  was  cold  comfort,  indeed,  that  this  good  woman  gave  me.  Her 
husband,  however,  was  better.  He  came  to  offer  me  his  best  services, 
and  if  there  was  anything  he  could  do  for  his  honour  or  for  me,  to 
let  him  know ;  he  said  that,  of  course,  he  recognised  Mr.  Hilyard  in 
his  disguise  as  a  countryman,  for  which  he  supposed  there  was  good 
reason  ;  but  he  was  a  North-countryman,  and  knew  the  respect  due 
to  the  Forsters,  and  how  to  keep  a  quiet  tongue  in  his  head,  especially 
where  his  wife  was  concerned. 

Early  next  morning  Mr.  Hilyard  himself  came  to  see  me.  He 
was  now  transformed  again,  feeling  as  much  pleasure  in  this,  his 
second  disguise,  as  a  child  feels  in  a  new  toy.  He  was,  if  you 
please,  a  physician,  with  an  immense  great  wig,  a  black  coat,  and 
sword — very  grave,  but  with  nose  in  the  air  ;  he  rode  in  a  hackney- 
coach,  because,  he  said,  no  one  regardeth  a  physician  who  walks  ; 
besides,  it  was  sixteen  years  and  more  since  he  had  sat  in  a  glass- 
coach.  I  do  not  know  that  there  was  any  necessity  for  this  careful 
disguise,  seeing  that  no  one  in  London  kuew  him,  and  that  all  who 
were  with  him  in  the  rebel  army  were  dispersed  or  prisoners.  But 
he  thought  so,  and  it  gave  him  confidence.  Besides,  he  felt  himself 
a  secret  agent  or  officer  of  Lord  Crewe,  and  therefore  bound,  I 
suppose,  to  spend  his  money. 

'  My  Lord  Bishop,'  he  said,  '  will  approve  of  this  disguise  when 
he  hears  of  it.  Money  cannot  be  better  laid  out  than  in  artifices 
which  prevent  suspicion.  Until  our  plan  is  completed  and  we  are 
ready  for  action,  we  must  lie  quiet  and  snug,  and  take  care  to  give 
no  occasion  for  talk.' 

He  then  sat  down  and  proceeded  with  his  news.  But  first  I 
remarked  in  him  a  great  vivacity  and  air  of  enjoyment.  He  said 
that  it  was  the  noise  of  the  London  streets  and  the  smell  of  the 
London  air  which  raised  and  exhilarated  his  spirits,  so  that  he  felt 
an  uncommon  lightness  of  heart,  although  the  circumstances  of  this 
return  to  his  native  aii:;were  so  unhappy. 

'  And  now,'  he  said,  '  I  must  tell  you  that  his  honour  is  lodged  in 
Newgate,  with  seventy  or  eighty  of  the  gentlemen,  and  the  rest  are 
in  the  Fleet  and  Marshalsea,  except  the  loi'ds,  who  are  all  in  the 
Tower.    So  much  I  learned  in  the  coffee-house  on  Ludgate  Hill, 


IN  LONDON. 


233 


whither  I  repaired  after  buying  these  clothes  at  second-hand  in  the 
Minories.  The  talk  is  of  nothing  but  the  rebels  and  the  prisoners. 
It  is  sixteen  years  and  more  since  last  I  smelt  the  tobacco  and  the 
coffee.  I  hope  you  like  this  wig  ;  it  cost  me  three  guineas,  and  was 
the  property  of  a  great  physician  now  deceased.  All  the  talk,  I  say, 
is  of  the  prisoners.  They  say  the  insults  of  the  mob  were  incredible. 
The  mob  is  now  fired  with  a  noble  zeal  for  the  Protestant  Succes- 
sion, and  hath  grown  mighty  pious.  It  is  a  religious  fervour  which 
is  too  hot  to  last,  but  may  yet  prove  disastrous  to  our  friends.  I 
have  found  a  lodging  in  Great  Queen  Street,  not  far  from  here  and 
convenient  for  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  where  I  can  lie  snug.  I  have 
told  the  landlady,  who  is  a  respectable  widow  woman,  that  I  am  a 
physician  from  the  country,  come  to  town  on  business.  I  have  paid 
her  a  fortnight  in  advance  to  prevent  questions  being  asked.  And 
now  comes  another  piece  of  news  which  will  indeed  astonish  you. 
Last  night  I  went  to  the  theatre  to  divert  myself.' 

'  To  divert  yourself  !  Oh,  Mr.  Hilyard  !  did  you  come  to  London 
to  divert  yourself  ?' 

'  Nay — nay — but,  believe  me,  when  nothing  can  be  done,  it  is 
good  to  relieve  the  mind.  We  must  not  think  of  one  thing  only, 
or  we  might  presently  fall  into  a  melancholy,  a  lethargy,  and  so  be 
able  to  effect  nothing.  Consider,  pray,  how  long  and  painful  hath 
been  the  journey  to  London,  and  with  what  sad  thoughts  and 
gloomy  forebodings  we  lengthened  the  miles.  Believe  me.  Miss 
Dorothy,  not  for  the  pleasure  of  the  acting  did  I  go,  but  as  medicine 
or  physic  to  the  soul.' 

He  spoke  so  earnestly  that  one  could  not  but  forgive  him.  Besides, 
it  was  sixteen  years  since  the  poor  man  had  seen  the  theatre. 

'  The  piece  was  the  "  Cobbler  of  Preston."  But  never  mind  the 
piece,  although  it  was,  for  that  matter,  admirably  played.  Yet  more 
fii'e  might  have  been  expressed  by  him  who  played — but,  I  forget ; 
my  news  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  play.  I  would  you  had  been 
in  the  house  to  see  the  brave  show,  the  beaux  and  the  modish  ladies. 
I  could  have  wept  to  think  of  the  old  times  when  I  used  to  go  there 
whenever  I  could  find  a  sixpence  for  the  gallery,  or  a  shilling  for 
the  pit.  The  house  quite  full,  and  the  talk  about  nothing  but  the 
brave  bearing  of  the  prisoners.  Mostly  my  Lord  Derwentwater  was 
commended,  because  of  all  he  seems  to  have  the  poorest  chance  of 
escape.  They  have  already  begun  to  hang  them  in  Liverpool,  it  is 
said.' 

*  But  your  news — your  news,  Mr.  Hilyard  !' 

*  It  is  that  the  principal  female  character  was  played — you  will 
never  guess !  It  was  played — you  were  never  so  surprised  in  all 
your  life — and  played  with  sa  great  a  fire,  such  justness  of  gesture 
and  looks,  such  perfect  command  of  the  part  and  knowledge  of  the 
lines  as  astonished  me — by  none  other,  if  you  -please,  than  your  own 
maid — Jenny  Lee  !' 

*  Why,'  I  said, '  I  heard  that  she  had  joined  the  players.  There  is 
no  reason,  that  I  see,  for  surprise.  She  was  a  clever  girl,  and  I 
hope  she  has  remained  good.' 


234 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


*  Oh  !'  he  said.    *  Are  you  not  surprised  ?    Should  you  wonder  if 

I,  beginning  as  a  humble  curate,  were  to  become  Archbishop  of 
Canterburj^  ?  Or  if  a  lad  who  sweeps  out  the  chambers  of  a  barrister 
were  to  become  Lord  Chancellor?  Or  if  a  drummer-boy  should 
grow  to  command  the  army  ?  Yet,  believe  me,  this  is  what  Jenny 
Lee  has  done.  Among  actresses  she  is  a  Bishop,  a  General,  a  Lord 
Chancellor.  Indeed  she  deserves  her  good  fortune,  if  ever  woman 
did.' 

'  By  reason  of  her  good  conduct.' 

'  Nay  ;  what  matter  her  conduct,  good  or  bad  ?  On  the  stage  she 
is  Calista,  Almeria,  Celinda,  what  you  will  ;  off  the  stage  we  have 
nothing  to  say  or  think  of  her,  any  more  than  of  any  other  woman. 
I  mean  that  she  hath  become  a  most  accomplished  and  wonderful 
actress.  But  this  is  not  all.  After  the  play  was  over  I  went  to  the 
stage-door,  and  begged  that  a  letter  might  be  taken  to  Mistress  Lee 
from  an  old  friend.  It  was  but  a  line  that  I  wrote,  asking  that  an 
old  friend  from  Northumberland  might  see  her.  Now  be  prepared 
for  a  new  surprise.  She  came  down  in  a  few  minutes,  but  knew  me 
not,  so  that  I  had  to  whisper  my  name  ;  and  then,  without  saying  a 
word,  she  took  my  hand  and  led  me  to  her  own  coach.  "  Come,"  she 
said,    and  have  supper  with  me,  and  tell  me  all."  ' 

'  Her  own  coach  ?    Jenny  Lee's  coach  ?' 

'  Why,  I  said,  did  I  not,  that  she  is  a  queen  among  actresses  ?  Of 
course  she  has  her  coach,  and  coachman  too.  She  lives  in  Ked  Lion 
Square,  a  very  convenient  and  fashionable  part  of  town,  though 
somewhat  far  from  the  theatre.  I  found  in  her  lodgings  no  other 
person  than  Mr.  Frank  Radcliffe.' 

'  I  think,'  I  said,  *  that  a  gentleman  of  his  birth  might  be  more 
choice  in  his  company.  Did  he,  too,  go  to  the  theatre,  or  to  sup  with 
a  play-actress,  to  divert  his  mind  ?' 

'  But,'  he  repeated,  '  she  is  a  very  great  actress  indeed.  However, 
there  is  not  much  diversion  for  Mr.  Frank.  To  begin  with,  I  saw 
clearly  that  the  poor  young  gentleman  is  melancholy  mad  in  love 
with  Jenny.  She  can  do  with  him  what  she  pleases.  You  remember 
the  strange  thing  you  saw  at  Dilston.  She  orders  and  he  obeys. 
Yet  he  looks  little  like  a  lover,  and  is  so  worn  and  thin  that  you 
would  not  know  him.  He  says  that  had  he  known  of  the  rising  he 
would  have  hurried  to  the  north  to  join  his  brother,  but  he  had  no 
hint  or  suspicion  of  it.  The  poor  young  gentleman,  with  his  hacking 
cough,  would  have  been  killed  in  a  week.  I  told  him,  that,  so  far 
as  I  could  learn,  the  Earl  had  no  hint  or  suspicion  of  it  either,  and 
that,  for  his  own  sake,  his  friends  were  well  pleased  that  he  had  not 
joined  that  unfortunate  enterprise.  I  then  explained  the  cause  of 
my  coming  to  London,  and  the  manner,  which  greatly  affected  Jenny 
(whose  heart,  I  am  sure  is  good,  though  she  be  an  actress).  She  shed 
tears,  and  inquired  if  in  any  way  she  might  help  us  in  our  business.' 

'  Why,'  I  said,  '  the  Forsters  must  be  sunk  low  indeed,  if  they 
must  stoop  to  seek  the  aid  of  an  actress  who  was  once  a  servant- 
maid.' 

Mr.  Hilyard  replied  nothing. 


IN  LONDON, 


235 


'  To  be  sm-e/  I  went  on,  '  you  yourself  seem  infatuated  with  the 
girl.  Is  it  not  intolerable  that  she  should  steal  away  the  senses 
of  a  young  gentleman  with  her  sorceries  ?  And  you  would  have  me, 
her  former  mistress,  go  to  her  for  counsel  and  aid  ?' 

'  Forgive  me,'  he  replied  humbly.  '  As  for  her  sorceries,  I  doubt 
if  they  are  now,  whatever  they  were  once,  other  than  any  woman 
can  exercise  with  black  eyes  and  pretty  face,  and  such  a  wit  as  J enny 
hath.  'Tis  true  she  was  your  maid  ;  but  she  is  so  no  longer.  All 
things  must  have  a  beginning.  Why,  I  was  myself  but  the  son  of  a 
vintner,  and  have,  if  the  truth  be  told,  sat  at  the  spigot  when  a  boy 
and  filled  the  measures.  Yet  was  I  thought  worthy  to  be  enrolled 
among  the  gentlemen  volunteers,  and  to  fight  beside  Lord  Derwent- 
water  himself  at  Preston.  Jenny  was  once  your  maid  ;  but  she  is 
now  a  great  and  wonderful  actress.' 

'  Say  no  more  of  her,  Mr.  Hilyard,'  I  replied. 

'  Alas  !'  he  said,  '  will  the  day  ever  come  when  ladies  wdll  look 
upon  actors  as  they  have  long  since  looked  upon  painters  and  poets, 
and  hold  them  in  equal  honour  ?  But  fear  not,  Miss  Dorothy  ; 
Jenny,  poor  girl,  shall  not,  as  she  desires,  pay  her  respects  to  you. 
Yet  she  wept,  thinking  of  your  kindness  towards  her.' 

He  forbore  at  the  time  to  tell  me  more,  but  afterwards  I  learned 
what  passed.  It  seems  that,  like  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  Mrs.  Oldfield, 
and  other  great  actresses,  Jenny  was  continually  besieged  by  troops 
of  lovers  and  gallants,  who  swarmed  after  her  like  flies  in  August. 
I  do  not  know  what  magic  charm  there  is  in  her  profession  and 
calling  which  causeth  men  to  run  after  an  actress  ;  but  this  I  am 
assured  is  the  case  with  all  of  them  who  are  young  and  pretty. 
Among  Jenny's  courtiers  were  some  of  rank  and  high  in  office, 
whose  names  (though  I  learned  them)  must  not  be  mentioned  here. 
But  she  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  any  of  them,  being  resolved 
upon  nothing  less  than  marrying  Frank  Radcliffe,  who  loved  her 
with  a  kind  of  madness,  and  on  keeping  her  reputation  unspotted 
for  his  sake.  Because  she  was  an  actress,  there  were  stories  told 
about  her,  and  if  these  were  true  (but  they  were  not)  she  must 
have  been  the  worst  of  women.  She  promised  Mr.  Hilyard  at  that 
supper  that  she  would  consider,  from  her  knowledge  of  the  town, 
what  was  best  to  be  done,  and  how  she  should  work  among  those 
great  gentlemen  who  dangled  after  her,  for  Mr.  Forster.  As  for 
the  Earl,  he,  she  said,  was  altogether  game  too  high  for  her  :  he 
would  command  a  host  of  friends,  and  it  depended  on  nothing  but 
the  King's  clemency  or  his  revenge.  But,  as  for  a  plain  country 
gentleman,  why,  perhaps — she  could  not  say— and  he  was  the 
General,  which  made  it  difficult — but  she  would  consult  with  a 
certain  great  man  about  the  Court.  All  this  from  an  actress  and  a 
gipsy  girl,  who  had  been  my  maid  !  But  strange  things  happen 
still  in  London  !  All  this  she  would  do,  and  more  if  she  could,  for 
Miss  Dorothy's  sake,  and  for  no  other's  ;  unless  it  might  be  for  Mr. 
Hilyard  himself,  who  first  taught  her  to  act. 

*  Her  supper  was  noble,'  Mr.  Hilyard  continued.  '  After  the 
meals  we  have  taken  on  the  road,  it  was  a  feast  of  Belshazzar.  But 


236 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


Mr.  Frank  touched  nothing,  coughing  grievously.  After  supper  we 
had  whisky  punch,  the  first  I  have  tasted  since  we  left  the  north. 
Alas  !  shall  I  ever  drink  it  again  with  his  honour  in  the  Manor 
House  ?'  Here  his  eyes  overflowed.  '  It  cannot  be  but  we  will 
somehow  get  him  off — either  by  interest  or  else  by  the  golden  key.' 

I  confess  that  I  was  at  first  humiliated  and  shamed  at  the  thought 
of  owing  anything  to  the  backstairs  influence  of  Jenny  Lee,  and  I 
rejoice  still  to  think  that  in  the  end  it  was  not  needed.  I  do  not 
share  Mr.  Hilyard's  admiration  of  the  actor's  art,  nor  do  I  find 
anything  admirable,  unless  shamelessness  be  admirable,  in  standing 
up  before  a  thousand  people  to  recite  verses,  dressed  up  in  a  gilt 
crown  and  a  silk  gown.  But  I  was  sorry  to  hear  the  bad  news  con- 
cerning Frank  Radcliffe,  whom  I  resolved  upon  seeing  as  soon  as 
possible.  Meantime,  for  a  few  days,  nothing  could  be  done,  Mr. 
Hilyard  said,  except  to  seek  out  such  friends  as  might  help  us. 
Now,  so  unhappy  were  we,  that  of  all  our  friends  and  cousins — 
who  are  legion— there  was  not  one  who  was  on  the  other  side,  ex- 
fiepting  only  Lady  Cowper. 

In  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  Mr.  Hilyard  took  me  abroad,  to  see 
some  of  the  sights  of  London.  First,  he  led  me  to  Drury  Lane, 
where  he  pointed  out  the  great  theatre,  the  house  where  Nell 
Gwynne  lived,  the  place  where  Lord  Craven,  who  married  Princess 
Elizabeth,  had  his  palace,  and  many  other  curious  places.  Through 
by-lanes  and  narrow  passages  filled  with  shops  and  people  he  next 
led  me  into  the  Strand,  which  is  truly  a  wonderful  thoroughfare, 
with,  on  the  south  side,  Somerset  House  and  the  site  of  the  old 
Savoy  (now  in  ruins),  Buckingham  House,  Northumberland  House, 
and  many  others.  The  day  was  very  cold,  but  the  ladies  were 
abroad,  some  in  coaches  and  some  walking,  the  latter  mostly 
attended  by  gentlemen.  Then  Mr.  Hilyard  showed  me  the  Park 
and  Spring  G-ardens,  but  I  cannot  understand  how  any  can  call 
them  beautiful.  Perhaps,  when  the  leaves  are  on  the  trees,  the 
long  straight  alleys  may  look  well. 

'You  should  see  them,'  said  my  guide,  4n  June,  when  the  trees 
are  green,  and  beneath  the  trees  the  fine  ladies  and  the  beaux. 
That  is,  indeed,  a  sight  to  make  one  dream  of  heaven.' 

From  the  Park  he  led  me  to  Westminster  Abbey.  Here,  as  the 
day  was  growing  dark,  we  wandered  in  the  dim  and  awful  twilight 
among  the  monuments,  while  our  footsteps  echoed  in  the  lofty 
roof,  and  our  voices  resounded  overhead  in  gentle  thunder. 

'It  is  a  place  for  prayer  and  meditation,'  I  said.  '  Surely  in  so 
great  a  city  there  must  be  many  unhappy,' 

'  I  doubt  it  not,'  replied  Mr.  Hily  ird.  '  The  city  hath  thousands 
of  poor  wretches.' 

'  Do  they  come  here,'  I  asked,  '  to  pray  and  repent  ?' 

He  shook  his  head. 

'The  Church  of  England,'  he  replied,  'keeps  these  great  cathe- 
drals for  the  spiritual  benefit  of  the  better  sort.  For  the  baser 
kind,  and  to  further  and  encourage  their  prayers  and  repentance, 
there  are  mercifully  provided  the  whipping-post,  the  pillory,  Bride- 


IN  LONDON, 


237 


well,  where  the  lash  is  not  spared,  and  Newgate,  with  its  gaol -fever, 
its  chains,  its  greedy  warders,  and  the  Reverend  Ordinary,  who  also 
goeth  in  the  cart  to  Tyburn  with  those  who  are  to  be  hanged.' 

Let  me  here  set  down  a  strange  thing,  which  I  thought  a  freak 
of  IVIr.  Hilyard's  ;  yet  to  which  I  consented,  because  one  would  not 
throw  away  a  chance  :  and  in  the  long-run,  it  helped  me  much,  and 
perhaps  assured  me  safety,  as  you  will  hear. 

He  was  always  full  of  mystery  about  his  plans,  sometimes 
throwing  out  hints  of  an  armed  rescue  by  means  of  a  Jacobite 
mob  ;  and  at  other  times  dwelling  on  the  necessity  of  caution,  and 
secret  corruption  of  persons  in  trust.  Once,  I  remember,  he  pro- 
posed seriously  a  forged  pardon  and  order  from  the  King  to  let  Mr. 
Forster  go  free. 

'  If,'  he  said,  '  it  was  a  tragedy  we  were  writing,  I  should  say 
that  no  better  plot  could  be  devised  than  the  escape  of  the  prisoner, 
on  the  morning  of  his  execution,  by  means  of  a  forged  pardon. 
But  I  doubt  whether  the  difficulty  of  deceiving  the  Governor,  and 
the  uncertainty  as  to  the  proper  form  of  signature — whether  paper 
or  parchment,  how  to  be  worded,  how  sent  to  the  prison — would  not 
prove  fatal  to  the  design.' 

And  so  with  many  other  notable  designs. 

One  day,  however,  he  informed  me  that  he  had  considered  the 
subject  carefully,  and  was  of  opinion  that  steps  should  be  taken  to 
throw  suspicion,  after  the  escape,  in  a  false  direction  ;  that  he  had 
already  learned,  from  a  certain  source,  of  a  sea  captain  of  Wapping 
reported  to  be  an  extraordinary  villain  and  most  treacherous  dog, 
making  it  his  practice  to  bargain  with  gentlemen,  highwaymen,  cut- 
throats, and  others,  who  might  desire  to  change  their  native  air  for 
that  of  France,  for  their  conveyance  across  the  water  ;  and,  having 
gotten  their  money,  to  betray  them  for  more  pay — if  he  could  get 
it — to  the  messengers  and  officers. 

*  What,'  I  asked,  '  have  we  to  do  with  such  a  desperate  villain  as 
this  ?' 

'  Why,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  remember  that  we  know  not  when  we 
may  make  our  attempt.  We  will  go  to  him,  the  first  thing  ;  we 
will  open  the  business,  naming  no  names  ;  we  will  prepare  him, 
beforehand,  to  expect  a  great  personage.' 

I  could  not  understand  why.  If  the  man  was  a  villain,  why  not 
go  to  an  honest  man,  who  would  truly  serve  us  ? 

'As  for  my  plans,'  he  went  on,  'they  are  not  perfected  ;  nor  can 
they  be  until  I  have  seen  his  honour  and  inspected  the  ground. 
But  we  cannot  begin  too  soon,  nor  can  we  neglect  the  least  precaution.' 

I  knew  nothing,  as  yet,  of  his  plans  ;  because,  as  I  have  already 
said,  what  he  had  opened  to  me  seemed  like  the  foolish  story  of  a 
play.  However,  I  listened  to  him  in  the  matter  of  this  Wapping 
journey  (which,  although  such  as  would  only  be  thought  of  by  one 
who  had  read  many  plays,  turned  out,  in  the  long-run,  useful),  and 
we  rode  thither  in  a  glass-coach.  I  dressed  in  my  best,  concerning 
which  Mr.  Hilyard  was  very  particular,  wishing  the  fellow  we  had 
to  do  with  to  take  me  for  a  lady  of  the  highest  quality. 


238 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


We  came,  after  a  long  drive  through  streets  more  crowded  and 
noisy,  and  with  more  tumult,  fighting,  and  blasphemy,  than  I  could 
have  believed  possible,  to  the  river-bank,  to  a  place  called  Wapping 
Old  Stairs,  where  we  left  the  coach  and  took  boat  (if  the  people  in 
the  streets  swore  horribly,  those  on  the  river  swore  much  worse), 
and  were  rowed  to  a  small  vessel  moored  in  the  middle  of  the 
stream.  The  captain,  who  was  on  deck,  had  a  chair  rigged  to  a 
yard  and  lowered  for  me,  while  Mr.  Hilyard  clambered  up  the 
ladder.  A  most  sinister  and  evil-looking  villain  he  was,  with  a 
great  scar  across  his  face  ;  but  he  bowed,  and  tried  to  smile  and  to 
look  loyal  and  faithful.  Judas  himself,  or  Mr.  Patten,  had  not  a 
more  sinister  countenance. 

'  Here  is  the  lady,  captain,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard  ;  ^  and  not  to  beat 
about  the  bush,  seeing  that  we  are  all  honest  people  here,  and  of 
the  right  sort  ' 

'  Truly,'  said  the  captain,  with  a  most  forbidding  grin,  '  of  the 
right  sort.' 

'  Let  us  come  to  the  point.  We  will  say  that  her  ladyship  hath 
a  husband,  brother,  father,  or  lover,  anxious,  for  reasons  of  his  own, 
to  change  the  air.  As  for  his  lordship's — I  mean  his  honour's — 
name,  it  matters  not.  The  question  is,  first,  for  how  much  you  will 
take  this  gentleman  abroad  and  land  him  on  the  coast  of  France.' 

'  I  will  take  him,  because  of  his  opinions,'  said  the  honourable 
captain,  '  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  guineas.' 

Heavens !  what  a  price  for  taking  a  gentleman  across  the 
Channel ! 

'  Captain,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  your  hand  upon  it.  It  is  a  cheap 
bargain.  This,  your  ladyship,'  turning  to  me,  '  is  a  man  of  honour. 
Of  that  I  am  informed  by  friends  in  whom  I  can  trust.  We  may 
rely  upon  him.  He  is  a  man  of  honour.  It  may  be  a  nionth,  or 
even  more,  before  we  are  ready.  But  here  is  our  man.  Lucky  we 
are  to  find  a  man  of  honour  ready  to  our  h?tnd.' 

The  captain  protested  that  all  the  world  knew  him  for  a  man  of 
honour  ;  but  that,  as  for  waiting,  he  should  require  ten  guineas  a 
week  for  keeping  the  hoy  in  readiness. 

'You  shall  have  it,  captain,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard  readily.  'You 
shall  have  it.  A  moderate  sum,  indeed,  for  such  a  man  as  yourself. 
But  you  must  be  alwciys  aboard,  for  we  may  drop  down  at  any  hour 
of  the  day  or  night.' 

'  He  is  Judas  Iscariot  the  Second,  or  perhaps  his  great-grandson,' 
said  Mr.  Hilyard,  when  we  were  ashore.  '  We  can  go  home  again, 
remembering  that  this  villain  will  presently  make  another  bargain 
for  his  own  advantage,  by  which  he  hopes,  when  he  has  secured  his 
money  from  the  escaping  prisoner,  to  get  a  second  and  perhaps  a 
higher  price.' 

'  How  will  it  serve  us  ?' 

'  In  this  way,  that  they  will  first  look  for  his  honour,  when  we 
have  got  him  out,  at  Wapping,  which  will  give  us  time.' 

This  seemed  very  ingenious  •  but  meanwhile,  how  was  he  to  bo 


LADY  COW  PER, 


239 


got  out  ?  And  here  Mr.  Hilyard  could  only  talk  about  his  plans, 
which  were  as  yet,  he  said,  only  half -hatched  ;  but  he  thought  of 
nothing  else  day  or  night,  and  went  each  evening,  in  order  to  seek 
inspiration,  to  the  theatre.  I  blamed  him  not.  It  was  my  brother, 
not  he,  who  was  in  Newgate  ;  and  surely  no  one  could  have  been 
more  generous  and  faithful  than  he  during  all  that  long  and  terrible 
ride  to  London. 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

LADY  COWPER. 

Lord  Cowper's  great  town-house  was  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  at 
the  north-west  corner.  I  went  in  the  morning,  hoping  to  find  there 
my  cousin  (who  was  now  a  Lady  of  the  Chamber  to  the  Princess 
of  Wales)  free  from  visitors,  and  more  open  to  hear  my  case  ;  and 
by  the  advice  of  Mr.  Hilyard,  who  accompanied  me,  we  hired  a 
glass-coach  for  the  visit,  so  that  the  impudent  lacqueys  and  footmen 
should  not  fail  to  pay  us  the  respect  which  they  v,dthhold  whenever 
the  outward  appearance  of  a  visitor  doth  not  proclaim  his  quality 
and  rank.  Certainly,  I  think  these  London  varlets  are  a  disgrace 
to  the  manners  of  the  City.  It  matters  little  what  such  gentry 
think  of  one  ;  but  it  was  of  great  importance  not  to  be  thrust  aside 
and  kept  waiting  in  the  hall  among  the  jeers  and  ribaldry  of  this 
people,  who  are  thus  badly  behaved  because  their  masters  do  not 
correct  them  as  they  should.  Never  were  any  stable-boys,  for  in- 
stance, better  mannered  than  Tom's,  because  he  always  went  among 
them,  as  he  went  among  his  dogs,  whip  in  hand. 

There  was  a  little  crowd  about  the  door,  consisting  partly  of 
tradesmen  waiting  to  see  the  housekeeper  or  her  ladyship,  partly 
of  footmen  in  livery,  and  partly  of  persons,  perhaps  gentlemen, 
looking  for  the  most  part  anxious  and  decayed,  waiting  to  present 
petitions,  or  to  have  audience  of  the  Lord  Chancellor.  Mr.  Hilyard 
left  me  in  the  coach,  and  conversed  for  a  few  minutes  with  a  great, 
insolent-looking  fellow  in  my  lord's  livery.  I  saw  him  put  money 
(it  was  a  whole  guinea)  into  the  man's  hand. 

'  Tell  my  lady,'  he  said,  '  her  cousin  desires  to  have  speech  with 
her; 

Upon  this  the  man  went  away,  but  presently  returned,  and  Mr. 
Hilyard  informed  m.e  that  her  ladyship  would  &ee  hor  cousin. 

It  was  still  so  early  that  Lady  Cowper  was  sitting  in  her  break- 
fast-room, three  children  playing  round  her  on  the  floor.  I  desire 
before  everything  else  to  testify  that,  though  ray  cousin,  Lady 
Cowper,  was  the  wife  of  a  great  Whig  Lord  and  Minister  of  State, 
nothing  could  have  been  kinder  than  her  reception  of  me,  whose 
brother  she  could  not  but  regard  as  a  principal  cause  of  all  the 
trouble,  and  nothing  more  friendly  than  her  continued  interest  in 
my  case,  and  thoughtful  advice.  At  this  time  she  was  about  thirty 
years  of  age,  having  been  born  at  Chipwell,  in  Durham,  in  the  year 
1685,  and  was  married  in  1706  to  Lord  Cowper,  then  Keeper  of  the 
Great  Seals  (she  died  seven  years  later-  of  a  broken  heart,  three 


240 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


montlis  after  her  husband,  and  is  now,  I  cannot  doubt,  having  been 
so  good  a  woman,  far  happier  than  she  ever  hoped  to  be).  This 
virtuous  and  amiable  woman  showed  in  her  lovely  face  the  virtues 
and  graces  with  which  she  was  so  bountifully  endowed.  Her 
features  were  straight  and  regular ;  her  eyes  full  and  soft — my  own 
still  shed  tears,  even  to  think  of  her.  When  I  entered  the  room  she 
rose  and  came  to  meet  me. 

'  Cousin  !'  she  said,  giving  me  both  her  hands,  *I  have  not  learned 
your  name,  but  I  give  you  welcome.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  what  is 
your  trouble — you  have  great  trouble  written  on  your  face,  my 
dear — and  how  I  can  best  help  you.' 

But  at  these  kind  words — almost  the  first  I  had  heard  since  the 
trouble  began — my  courage  gave  way,  and  I  fell  into  a  passion  of 
crying  and  sobbing.  Yet  I  had  not  cried  once,  except  with  my 
Lord  Crewe,  since  Mr.  Hilyard  brought  me  the  dreadful  news.  She 
took  my  hands  in  hers  and  kissed  me,  crying  with  me,  I  think. 

'  Tell  me,  my  dear,'  she  said  presently,  '  tell  me,  if  you  can,  who 
you  are.' 

'  Alas  !'  I  replied,  '  I  am  Dorothy  Forster.' 

^  What  ?'  she  said,  her  eyes  full  of  compassion.  *  You  are  my 
beautiful  cousin  Dorothy  ?  My  dear,  I  have  heard  of  you  :  like 
poor  Lady  Crewe,  whom  this  trouble  has  killed,  you  could  find  no 
one  good  enough  for  you  in  the  north,  and  must  needs  wait  for  a 
Prince.  My  poor  child !  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  glad  to  see  you, 
for,  indeed,  this  is  a  most  grievous  and  terrible  business.  Yet,  try 
to  keep  up  your  heart  while  we  consider  what  may  be  done.  In  the 
first  place,  there  is  no  hurry,  we  have  time  before  us  :  my  lord  says 
that  the  trials  of  the  Peers  are  certain  to  come  first,  but  we  cannot 
tell  when  they  will  come  on.  As  for  your  brother  Tom— I  have 
seen  him,  and  I  wished  him  to  come  here  often,  but  he  would  never 
pay  his  court  to  ladies,  and  preferred  his  Jacobite  coffee-house — if 
he  were  tried  to-day  or  to-morrow,  in  the  present  temper  of  the 
Court  and  the  town,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  sentence.  You 
will  gain  by  waiting.  But,  oh  !  my  dear,  consider  his  offence.  He 
was  the  General  of  the  English  forces.  He  is  not  an  ordinary  rebel. 
He  is  as  bad  as  the  Earl  of  Mar  or  Lord  Kenmure.  Do  not  suffer 
him  to  be  hopeful,  but  rather  let  him  prepare  for  the  worst.  And 
do  you,  Dorothy,  work  your  best  for  him  meanwhile.' 

Then  she  asked  me  where  I  was  lodging,  and  promised  to  procure 
for  me,  if  she  could,  an  order  to  see  Tom  in  Newgate.  All  visitors, 
except  such  as  had  permission,  were  as  yet  refused  admission  ;  but 
this  restriction  was  speedily  broken  through  in  favour  of  those  who 
had  money  wherewith  to  bribe  the  officers  of  the  prison. 

'  I  know  not,'  she  went  on,  '  what  may  be  the  mind  of  the  King, 
but  I  am  very  sure  that  the  Ministers  will  desire  that  the  examples 
shall  be  as  few  as  possible.  AVhy,  why  did  not  Tom  Forster  follow 
the  example  of  so  many  others,  and  escape  by  the  way  ?' 

I  knew  not  that  any  escaped  on  the  way. 

*  I  suppose,'  I  replied,  '  that  his  honour  was  concerned.  Others 
might  run  away,  but  not  the  General  who  surrendered.' 


LADV  COW  PER. 


241 


*  Nay,  but  the  King's  honour  is  not  concerned  in  granting  a 
pardon  to  the  leaders.  Yet  it  is  early  to  talk  of  these  things. 
Now,  child,  come  to  see  me  often  :  this  week  I  am  in  waiting  :  I 
have  told  the  Princess  already  that  poor  Tom  is  my  cousin  :  but  of 
course  she  can  do  nothing — yet.  My  dear,  he  should  have  escaped. 
Oh !  they  should  all  have  escaped !  I  have  no  patience  with  the 
punctilio  of  men  who  led  so  crazy  an  enterprise.  Why,  if  the 
threatened  end  were  not  so  terrible,  they  would  all  be  the  laughing- 
stock of  the  country.  Dorothy,  my  dear  Dorothy,  why  did  you  let 
them  do  it  ?' 

'  Indeed,'  I  said,  'we  believed  what  we  were  told  :  and,  alas  !  the 
women  were  worse  than  the  men.  We  were  told — Colonel  Oxbrough 
and  Captain  G-ascoigne  said  so — that  the  whole  country  was  with 
us  :  the  army  would  mutiny  :  the  people  would  rally  round  us — 
what  did  they  not  say  ?' 

'  As  for  these  agitators,  at  least,'  said  Lady  Cowper  gravely,  '  I 
trust  that  full  justice  will  be  done.' 

'  Yet  all  the  way  to  London,'  I  told  her,  '  we  heard  nothing  but 
curses  on  the  Prince  and  all  his  party,  and  the  Pope.  Not  once  in 
all  that  long  ride  did  we  find  a  man  who  prayed  for  his  return.' 

Then  she  asked  me  how  I  came  to  London,  and  when  she  heard 
that  it  was  on  horseback,  through  all  the  dreadful  weather,  she 
threw  up  her  hands  in  wonder. 

'  Is  there  any,'  she  cried,  '  but  a  brave  Northumberland  girl  who 
would  take  such  a  ride  ?    But  who  came  with  you,  Dorothy  ?' 

Should  I  tell  ?    Yet  I  knew  she  would  not  bet7:ay  me. 

'  My  brother's  steward  ;  formerly  his  tutor — Mr.  Hilyard.  Oh  ! 
Lady  Cowper,  hush  !  let  me  whisper.  He,  too,  was  with  them,  but 
he  escaped.  To  bring  me  to  London  he  dressed  himself  like  a 
blacksmith,  and  me  like  a  country- wench.  Now  he  waits  for  me  at 
your  door,  disguised  as  a  grave  physician.  I  have  placed  his  life  in 
your  hands  !    But,  without  him,  I  am  helpless  indeed.' 

'  His  life  is  safe  with  me,  my  child  ;  but  I  would  willingly  converse 
with  a  rebel  who  thus  puts  his  head  in  the  lion's  mouth.' 

She  rang  a  hand-bell,  and  ordered  a  footman  to  bring  to  her  the 
gentleman  who  was  waiting  for  me. 

Mr.  Hilyard  came,  wearing  a  face  of  the  greatest  importance  and 
learning. 

'  Pray,  sir,'  said  Lady  Cowper,  '  pardon  me.  I  am  anxious  con- 
cerning my  cousin's  health.  She  hath  suffered  great  weariness  of 
body  and  trouble  of  mind  of  late.  Your  learned  counsel,  I  trust, 
will  not  be  wanting  in  the  case.  You  are  doubtless  a  member  of 
the  College  of  Phj^sicians.' 

'  I  had  the  honour  of  studying  medicine,  my  lady,  at  the  renowned 
University  of  Leyden,'  he  replied,  without  a  blush,  though  the 
!   falsehood  was  so  great. 

'  Would  you  be  willing  to  take  counsel  with  my  own  physician  ? 
I  find  my  cousin's  cheek  pale,  and  her  colour  comes  and  goes. 
These  are  signs  which  should  not  be  neglected.' 

*Mo^t  willingly,  madam,  will  I  consult  with  your  physician* 

16 


242 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


But  your  ladyship  need  be  under  no  pain  in  Miss  Dorothy's  case. 
She  suffers  from  that  complaint  for  which  the  ancients  did  worship 
Angerona  Dea,  videlicet^  Fear  :  but  in  her  case  it  is  fear  on  account 
of  others.  It  is  a  disorder  which  affects  the  brains  only  of  the 
more  noble  (the  Muses,  for  example,  are  said  to  be  melancholy 
because  their  followers  are  poor).  For  the  remedy  of  this  disorder 
there  is,  first,  the  removal  of  the  cause,  so  that  the  liberation  of  his 
honour,  Mr.  Thomas  Forster  the  younger,  and  that  of  the  Earl  of 
Derwentwater,  will,  I  pledge  my  professional  skill,  leave  this  lady 
as  comely  of  face  and  as  cheerful  of  aspect  as  before.  But  if  that 
may  not  yet  be  done,  I  would  prescribe  hope,  the  promise  of  her 
friends  to  help,  daily  prayer,  and  certain  precepts  of  philosophy, 
with  the  use  of  herbs,  such  as  betony,  a  sprig  of  marigold  always  in 
her  broth,  and  the  flowers  of  Carduiis  henedictus.  Other  simples 
there  are,  with  which  I  will  not  weary  your  ladyship.' 

'Indeed,  sir,  my  cousin  is  fortunate  in  having  so  learned  a 
physician.' 

She  smiled  as  she  said  this,  but  Mr.  Hilyard  bowed  low,  puffing 
out  his  cheeks,  and  looking  so  learned  and  skilful  a  physician  that 
even  I  was  almost  deceived. 

Then  she  dismissed  me,  promising  faithfully  to  keep  my  case  in 
mind,  and  to  say  what  she  could  to  help. 

*  Do  not  forget,  however,'  she  added,  *  that  I  have  the  chief  of 
my  own  family,  Mr.  Clavering  of  Callalee,  in  Newgate,  with  many 
other  friends  and  cousins.  To  think  that  the  poor  old  gentleman, 
now  over  seventy,  should  have  thought  to  take  up  arms  !  Yet,  like 
Tom  Forster  and  all  the  rest,  his  estates  are  almost  ruined  by  free 
hospitality  and  feasting.  Yes,  I  know.  Lady  Crewe  would  have 
given  all  back  to  Tom,  and  so  the  Forsters  of  Bamborough  might 
have  begun  again  in  greater  wealth  and  state  than  before.  It  was 
her  dream,  poor  lady  ;  and  foolish  Tom  must  needs  break  it  to 
pieces  and  kill  the  dreamer.  Why,  I  know  not,  except  that  he 
hoped  to  repair  his  fortunes  by  another  and  quicker  way,  yet  full 
of  danger.  Well ;  drink,  feasting,  horse-racing  and  sport,  have? 
ruined  more  Northumberland  gentlemen  of  late  than  all  the  ScotJ  \ 
across  the  Border  in  the  good  old  days.  Farewell,  brave  child  ! 
We  must  do  our  best  to  remove  the  cause,  most  learned  sir,  of  my 
cousin's  sick  looks,  and  then  we  shall  want  neither  betony,  nor 
marigold,  nor — nor  the  other  remedy — what  was  it  ?' 

That  most  noble  and  sovereign  herb,  my  lady,  called  Carduus 
henedictus,'' 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  UNFORTUNATE  MR.  PAUL. 

In  three  or  four  days  Lady  Cowper  sent  for  me  again  to  visit  her 
in  the  morning.  She  had  to  tell  me  that  I  might  now  visit  my 
brother  in  Newgate,  for  they  suffered  as  many  as  pleased  to  visit 
the  prisoners.  But  that  as  for  the  physician,  my  friend — '  Child,* 
she  said,  smiling,  '  you  ought  not  to  have  told  me.    Pray  forget 


THE  UNFORTUNATE  MR,  PAUL,  243 


that  I  have  the  man's  secret.  Yet  was  I  glad  to  have  seen  and 
conversed  with  a  creature  so  honest  and  so  faithful.  Doth  he  ask 
no  reward  for  his  services  ?' 

How  could  he,  seeing  I  had  nothing  in  the  world  to  give  him, 
nor  had  Tom  neither  ?  And  the  upshot  of  the  whole  business  to 
him  would  be  little  short  of  ruin,  seeing  that  his  occupation  was 
gone.  Lady  Crewe  dead  ;  Tom,  if  pardoned  or  reprieved,  probably 
without  any  means  ;  I  powerless  to  help  ;  his  own  youth  gone  (he 
was  now  at  least  thirty-seven) — what  would  the  poor  man  do  in 
this  hard  world  to  get  him  a  living  ? 

'Nay,'  said  Lady  Cowper  ;  'a  gentleman  of  his  gifts  can  never 
starve,  though  it  be  long  before  he  finds  another  patron  like  Tom, 
and  another  place  to  suit  his  genius  so  vrell  as  the  one  now  in 
jeopardy.  But,  my  dear,  caution  him  carefully  that  he  go  not  near 
Newgate  yet,  permission  or  not.  Listen  :  it  is  whispered  that  the 
evidence  against  the  prisoners  will  be  found  in  the  prison  itself — I 
mean,  cousin,  that  wherever  there  are  conspirators  there  are  traitors  ; 
and  when  it  comes  to  danger  for  the  neck,  honour  and  faith  have 
but  a  poor  chance.  Ask  me  no  questions,  my  dear.  None  of  the 
gentlemen,  our  cousins,  we  may  be  sure,  would  consent  to  save  their 
lives  by  such  villainy.  I  only  warn  thee.  There  m.ay  be  informers 
to  turn  King's  evidence.  This  physician — whoever  he  maj^  be — 
lord !  I  have  no  memory — if  you  even  told  me,  I  have  clean  and 
altogether  forgotten  where  he  comes  from — Leyden  was  it,  or 
Muscovy  ? — let  him  not  venture  within  those  walls  ;  and,  if  he 
value  his  learned  neck,  bid  him  go  no  more  abroad  in  the  streets 
than  is  necessary,  and  if  he  can  disguise  his  face,  let  him  do  so. 
Informers  have  one  fault :  they  will  still  be  showing  zeal ;  and, 
perhaps,  to  secure  a  rebel  at  large  might  be  thought  by  them  more 
praiseworthy  than  to  convict  a  rebel  in  prison.  As  for  Tom,'  she 
went  on,  '  if  he  is  tried,  mxake  him  plead  guilty.  It  is  his  only 
chance — since  he  missed  the  chance  of  running  away  on  the  road. 
My  dear,  if  Lady  Crewe  were  living,  he  certainly  would  never  be 
tried  at  all.' 

She  said  this  with  so  much  meaning,  that  one  could  not  but 
understand  her. 

'Perhaps,'  I  said,  'Lord  Crewe  might  be  willing  to  do  for 
\  his  wife's  nephew  what  his  wife  would  have  done,  had  she 
\  lived.' 

She  smiled,  and  looked  as  if  she  would  like  to  know  more.  Then 
^he  said : 

j  '  If  that  is  so,  cousin,  keep  thy  secret  carefully.  Tell  me  no  more  ; 
jor  if  you  do  tell  me,  forget  that  you  have  told  me.  But  best  not. 
,'Has  anything  yet  been  done?  But  do  not  tell  me.  A  woman 
whose  husband  is  the  Lord  Chancellor  must  not  know  these  things. 
Yet  my  memory  is  very  short.  Oh !  cousin,  tell  me  or  not,  as  seems 
you  best ;  but,  my  dear,  be  prudent.  Do  not  hm-ry,  yet  waste  no 
time.' 

I  told  her  then,  after  reminding  her  that  my  brother's  life 
depended  on  her  secrecy,  that  nothing  was  yet  done,  but  that  we 

16—2 


244 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


had  command  of  a  vast  great  sum  of  money,  and  Mr.  Hilyard  was 
engaged  in  devising  a  plan  which  should  be  safe  and  expeditious. 

'Mr.  Hilyard,'  she  said,  'may  be  an  ingenious  man  ;  but  in  such 
a  case  as  this  an  ounce  of  woman's  wit,  I  take  it,  is  worth  a  pound 
of  man's.  No  doubt  he  could  tell  us  how  men  have  broken  prison 
since  the  first  prison-house  was  erected  by  some  Greek  king  ;  that 
is  the  way  men  cheat  us,  and  because  they  know  history,  they  think 
they  can  do  everything  ;  here,  however,  is  no  case  for  the  boring  of 
holes  through  the  wall.  Remember,  my  dear,  the  old  story  of 
Jupiter  when  he  was  in  love,  and  how  he  got  into  the  tower  of  the 
nymph.  You  know  the  pretty,  naughty  fable  ?  By  a  shower  of 
gold,  my  dear.  Take  your  shower  of  gold  in  your  own  hand  and 
try.  Alas  !  how  one's  tongue  carries  one  away  !  What  has  the  wife 
of  the  Lord  Chancellor  to  do  with  showers  of  gold  and  Greek 
damsels  ?  Yet,  my  cousin,  I  would  to  heaven  that  Tom  was  gotten 
clean  away  1  I  told  the  Princess  of  your  long  march  to  London 
through  the  snow  and  frost,  and  she  wept.  Do  you  think  your 
Prince  would  have  wept  ?' 

Now  this  talk  set  me  a- thinking.   For  Mr.  Hilyard  was  all  in  the 
clouds  with  his  great  plans,  and  talked  sometimes  as  if  he  was  about 
to  raise  an  army,  or  to  besiege  Newgate  ;  and  at  other  times  as  if 
he  was  inventing  the  plot  of  some  mighty  drama,  in  which  the  right 
people  always  came  on  the  stage  at  the  right  time.    Yet  these  vast  j 
projects  were,  I  suppose,  but  the  preliminaries  to  some  more  prac-  I 
tical  scheme.    As  for  what  I  thought  and  what  I  attempted,  you  1 
shall  hear  presently. 

When  I  repeated  to  Mr.  Hilyard  some  of  this  conversation,  and 
especially  that  part  of  it  which  related  to  King's  evidence,  he  fell 
into  so  violent  a  wrath  that  I  thought  he  would  have  had  some  sort 
of  fit.  For,  surely,  he  declared,  there  can  be  no  more  dreadful 
wickedness  than  thus  to  betray  the  men  with  whom  you  have  sworn 
fidelity.  We  wrote  out  lists,  so  far  as  we  knew  them.,  of  all  the 
prisoners  brought  to  London,  and  we  could  think  of  none  capable 
of  playing  so  mean,  so  treacherous,  so  contemptible  a  part.  Yet  we 
could  not  choose  but  take  Lady  Cowper's  warning  seriously,  and  | 
Mr.  Hilyard,  with  grave  face,  promised  to  run  no  risks  that  he 
could  avoid. 

In  spite  of  his  promise  he  presently  fell  into  so  great  a  danger 
that  he  got  a  terrible  fright,  and  for  some  time  lost  confidence  in  < 
his  disguise,  and  would  not  venture  abroad  until  nightfall.  The/ 
way  of  it  was  this.    Some  prisoners  being  brought  to  London  from\ 
Scotland,  he  must  needs,  being  assured,  in  his  own  conceit,  againstj  / 
recognition,  go  stand  with  the  crowd  outside  the  gates  of  Newgate  *  | 
to  see  them  enter.    It  was  mostl}*  a  Jacobite  crowd,  collected  to:.  J 
cheer  the  unhappy  men,  but  there  were  Whigs  among  them.    Now,  1 
as  Mr.  Hilyard,  in  his  sober  physician's  dress,  stood  among  the  rest, 
some  one  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  he  turned  and  saw  that 
it  was  no  other  than  the  Reverend  Mr.  William  Paul,  the  clergyman 
who  joined  the  rebels  in  Lancashire,  and  escaped  through  having 
been  sent  away  with  Icttors.    He  had  put  off  his  cassock,  and  now, 


THE  UNFORTUNATE  MR.  PAUL. 


245 


dressed  like  a  plain  citizen  of  London,  was  come  to  see  the  dismal 
show. 

'  Ho  !  brother,'  he  whispered.  '  Do  you  not  know  me  ?  Let  us 
go  drink  a  glass  together.' 

'  What !'  said  Mr.  Hilyard.  '  It  is  Mr.  Paul !  Did  you  recognise 
me  in  this  disguise  ?' 

'Eecognise  you?  Of  course  I  did,  for  all  your  great  wig  and 
your  sober  looks.' 

"VYhile  they  were  thus  conversing  there  stepped  from  the  doors  of 
the  prison  an  officer  armed  with  a  truncheon,  who  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  unfortunate  Mr.  Paul's  shoulder. 

'In  the  King's  name!'  he  said,  'I  have  a  warrant  to  arrest  the 
body  of  the  Reverend  William  Paul.' 

So  saying,  though  the  crowd  pushed  to  and  fro,  and  groaned, 
none  dared  attempt  a  rescue,  and  in  a  moment  the  poor  man  was 
haled  within  the  prison- doors.  (He  was  one  of  those  afterwards 
executed.)  You  may  be  sure  that  Mr.  Hilyard  was  not  long  in  re- 
treating, and  for  a  few  days  he  did  not  dare  so  much  as  to  come  to 
my  lodgings. 

I  thought  continually  of  Lady  Cowper's  words  concerning 
woman's  wit,  but  came  not  for  a  long  while  into  any  reasonable 
way  of  following  her  advice,  for  no  other  cause,  I  verily  believe, 
than  that  I  could  not  at  all  understand  how  to  spend  the  twenty 
thousand  pounds  which  Lord  Crewe  was  ready  to  give  us.  When, 
however,  I  began  to  go  to  Newgate  (of  which  I  will  tell  immedi- 
ately), I  distinguished  a  turnkey  or  officer  who  belonged  especially 
to  the  Governor  s  house  ;  and,  partly  at  first  in  the  hope  that  to 
conciliate  this  fellow  might  soften  Tom's  lot  in  prison,  I  began  to 
give  him  money. 

He  was  a  cunning-looking  rascal,  about  fifty- five  years  of  age, 
with  a  foxy  face  and  red  twinkling  eyes,  which  from  the  first  fol- 
lowed me  about  as  if  I  seemed  likely  to  offer  bribes.  His  fingers 
were  curly  from  the  taking  of  fees,  while  as  for  pity  towards  the 
poor  unfortunate  people  in  ward,  his  heart,  I  am  sure,  was  nothing 
in  the  world  but  a  lump  of  stone  ;  he  looked  on  every  prisoner  as 
worth  so  many  guineas,  and  lamented  the  execution  of  a  profitable 
criminal  much  as  a  physician  laments  the  death  of  a  profitable 
patient.  Finding  how  greedy  he  was,  and  keen  after  money,  I 
began  to  consider  if  I  could  not  use  him  for  some  more  considerable 
purpose  than  a  careful  attention  to  Tom,  for  whom,  as  he  had  his 
own  man  with  him,  he  coidd  do  but  little,  even  if  he  desired. 
iTherefore  I  increased  my  gifts,  dropping  each  day  something  hand- 
'tsome  into  his  palm,  and  pretending  to  be  grateful  for  his  (supposed) 
kindness  to  my  brother. 

'  Such  goodness,'  I  said  to  him,  ^  deserves  a  better  reward,  which 
it  shall  certainly  obtain  if  the  General  steps  out  of  prison.  To  be 
sure,  if  one  were  to  find  a  willing  and  a  friendly  heart,  that  were 
easy.  Ah  !  how  gladly  would  one  reward  such  a  person  !  Think 
of  it,  Mr.  Jonas  !'    That  was  his  name. 

He  grinned  and  nodded,  and  said  he  should  not  forget  what  I 


246 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


bad  said.  Then  every  day  that  he  saw  me  he  would  look  at  me  in- 
quiringly, as  if  to  wonder  why  I  did  not  use  his  services  ;  and  if  he 
got  a  chance  of  speaking  to  me  unheard,  he  would  whisper  : 

*  A  friendly  and  a  willing  heart,  your  ladyship.' 

This  was  all  my  secret.  "While  Mr.  Hilyard  was  concocting  great 
schemes  and  plots,  I  was  simply  trying  whether  a  common  servant 
of  the  gaol  would  not  do  the  business  for  us  just  as  well  as  if  we 
were  to  set  agoing  the  whole  machinery  of  a  five-act  comedy  with 
Spanish  intrigues  and  French  surprises. 

And  as  for  this  fellow,  it  was  perfectly  plain  to  me  that,  though 
perhaps  he  might  play  me  false  in  the  end,  he  was  willing  to  open 
his  ears  wide  at  the  mere  mention  of  the  words  'reward'  or  'bribe.' 
Therefore  I  kept  him  on  and  off,  saying  nothing  more  at  the  time, 
but  waiting  for  a  favourable  opportunity. 

The  time  was  not  yet  ripe,  for  outside,  not  only  in  London,  but 
over  the  whole  country,  there  was  such  an  uproar  that  one  would 
have  thought  it  was  nothing  less  than  the  defeat  of  the  Spanish 
Armada,  instead  of  a  handful  of  their  own  misguided  countrymen 
rising  inopportunely  in  a  righteous  cause.  The  bells  of  the  City 
churches  were  kept  a-clanging  ;  bands  of  men  paraded  the  streets 
with  favours,  shouting  and  challenging  the  Jacks  to  come  forth  and 
show  themselves  ;  there  was  fighting,  drinking,  profane  swearing, 
lighting  of  bonfires,  and  brandishing  of  warming-pans  all  day  long, 
and,  I  dare  say,  all  night  as  well.  As  for  me,  I  saw  little  of  it ; 
but  once,  going  to  the  prison  in  a  coach,  we  were  stopped  by  a 
dozen  half -drunken  men,  who  pressed  round  the  doors,  swearing 
that  I  must  drink  King  George's  health,  or  kiss  them  all.  So  I 
drank  to  the  King,  wishing  in  secret  that  it  might  choke  his 
Majesty,  and  they  laughed  and  bade  the  coachman  drive  on.  Why, 
what  a  poor  cause  that  must  be  which  wants  such  swaggerers  and 
drunken  reprobates  to  defend  it !  The  hatred  of  the  people  against 
us  was  kept  up,  and  aggravated  as  well,  by  the  sermons  of  the 
London  clergymen,  especially  in  Nonconformist  chapels;  and,  1 
above  all,  by  the  Whig  papers,  which  continually  hurled  dirt  at  the 
unfortunate  prisoners  and  the  cause  for  which  they  suffered.  Lady 
Cowper  bade  me  pay  no  heed  to  these  things,  because,  she  said, 
nobody  regards  what  the  journals  say.  Yet  it  was  dreadful  to  read 
the  things  that  were  written  about  the  wives  and  friends  of  the 
prisoners.  We  were  assailed  as  tigresses —but,  indeed,  I  cannot/ 
repeat  what  they  said  ;  they  also  pleased  themselves  by  enumeratine^ 
the  possessions  and  country  seats  of  the  rebels,  which  they  confis 
cated,  sold,  and  distributed  long  before  the  prisoners  were  tried  a 
all.    And  they  would  not  so  much  as  listen  to  a  word  of  mercy. 

The  first  time  I  went  to  Newgate,  it  was  expecting  nothing  short 
of  underground  dungeons,  chains,  gloom,  and  misery.  Yet  when  I 
was  admitted,  the  warden  (no  other  than  this  same  Jonas),  after 
taking  my  name,  and  telling  me  that  the  General  was  lying  in  the 
Governor's  house  with  a  few  other  gentlemen,  led  the  way  to  a 
large  and  comfortable  room  on  the  first  floor,  which  was  his 


THE  UNFORTUNATE  MR.  PAUL,  247 


chamber.  The  only  inconvenience  about  the  room  was  that  it 
served  as  bedroom,  dining-room,  and  parlour  all  in  one.  There  was 
no  clank  of  chains,  and  nothing  to  remind  one  that  it  was  a  prison, 
save  the  feeling  that  between  the  house  and  the  street  was  an  ante- 
room, with  turnkeys  and  a  strong  door. 

It  was  in  the  forenoon  ;  Tom  was  sitting  beside  a  bright  coal-fire, 
his  wig  and  hat  lying  on  the  bed,  and  his  head  in  a  warm  linen 
nightcap.  Opposite  to  him  sat  Mr.  Patten,  and  both  were  smoking 
tobacco,  early  as  it  was.  But  they  were  silent,  and  they  looked  sad. 
As  for  the  chaplain,  who  had  made  so  brave  a  show  riding  among 
the  prisoners,  he  was  now  pale  of  cheek  and  heavy  of  eye. 

'  Dorothy !'  cried  Tom,  springing  to  his  feet.  '  Why,  I  knew 
that  she  would  come  to  London  after  me  !  Did  I  not  say  so,  parson  ? 
'Tis  a  brave  girl.  Kiss  me,  lass.  So — now  what  news  ?  What 
will  Lady  Crewe  do  ?  What  doth  her  ladyship  say  ?  Will  she 
among  her  friends  ' 

'  Alas,  Tom !'  I  said  ;  'Lady  Crewe  is  dead.  She  died  two  months 
ago,  after  a  kind  of  fit,  or  convulsion,  for  fear  that  you  would  be 
taken.    Tom,  'twas  pure  love  for  you  that  killed  her.' 

At  this  dreadful  intelligence  Tom  turned  quite  white,  and  fell 
back  into  his  chair. 

'  Lady  Crewe  dead  ?  Then,'  he  looked  round  him  helplessly, 
*what  will  become  of  us  all  ?' 

'  Nay,  Tom,'  I  replied.  '  We  know  not  yet.  But  keep  up  heart, 
brother.  There  is  time  enough  yet  to  consider  ;  and  all  are  agreed 
that,  where  so  many  are  concerned,  mercy  must  be  shown.  For 
shame's  sake  they  cannot  but  pardon  some  of  these  gentlemen.' 

'  Why,'  said  Tom,  '  some  they  may.  But  I  was  their  General. 
What  do  you  say  to  that,  Dorothy?  Unless  they  pardon  all,  I 
doubt  if  the  General  will  escape.' 

'  And  I,'  said  Mr.  Patten,  shaking  his  head  gloomily,  '  was,  alas  ! 
his  honour's  chaplain.  I  doubt  they  will  make  an  example  of  me 
for  the  encouragement  of  my  cloth.  What  do  they  say  outside 
about  me.  Miss  Dorothy  ?' 

'  Indeed,  Mr.  Patten,'  I  told  him, '  I  know  little  of  what  they  say, 
for  as  yet  I  have  seen  no  one  but  my  cousin.  Lady  Cowper.' 
\  '  Miss  Dorothy,'  he  said  earnestly,  '  pray,  you  that  art  so  tender 
of  heart,  when  you  speak  of  his  honour  to  her  ladyship,  couple  my 
name  with  his.  Say  the  General  and  his  chaplain.  Do  not  suffer 
them  to  be  separated.  The  General  with  his  chaplain.  If  we  have 
sinned  together — nay,  I  deny  not  that  I  exhorted  him  continually 
that  he  was  on  the  Lord's  side — we  have  been  taken  together.  Why, 
your  honour.  Lady  Cowper  is  the  wife  of  the  Chancellor — no  less. 
If  she  pleases  she  can  set  us  free.  But  it  would  cut  yom'  generous 
heart  to  the  quick,  I  know  it,  if  I  were  left  to  hang  while  you 
marched  out  free.' 

*  It  would,'  said  Tom.  '  Fear  not,  friend  ;  we  shall  go  out 
together.' 

'  As  yet,'  I  told  them,  '  Lady  Cowper  can  do  nothing.  Nobody 
can  say  a  word.    What  she  will  be  able  to  do  afterwards,  I  know  not. 


248 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


Remember  that  she  is  a  great  lady  at  Court,  and  a  Lady  of  the 
Bed- Chamber  to  the  Princess  of  Wales,  and  must  not  seem  to 
screen  his  Highness's  friends  too  much.' 

Mr.  Patten  was,  it  was  plain,  in  a  great  scare,  now  that  he  actually 
found  himself  in  prison  with  a  prospect  of  being  hanged.  I  have 
always  been  truly  thankful  that  I  said  nothing  at  the  time  of  what 
the  Bishop  was  willing  to  do  ;  else  Mr.  Patten  (the  villain)  would 
have  heard  and  blabbed,  and  so  all  been  spoiled.  Perhaps  Tom  in 
his  cups  might  have  blurted  it  out.  So  I  asked  Tom  only  if  he  was 
comfortable,  and  if  I  could  do  aught  for  him. 

*  Why,'  said  Tom,  *  as  for  comfort,  I  suppose  whatever  you  give 
him,  a  bird  in  a  cage,  or  a  rat  in  a  trap,  is  never  so  comfortable  as  a 
bird  in  the  air  or  a  rat  in  the  ditch.  For  those  who  have  money 
there  is  some  comfort,  as  you  see  ;  a  quiet  place  at  least,  where  one 
can  take  a  pipe  of  tobacco  in  peace.  As  for  my  money,  'tis  almost 
at  an  end  ;  look  you  to  it,  Dorothy,  if  you  can.' 

I  told  him  that  I  could  find  money  for  him,  but  that  at  present 
he  must  not  ask  from  whom  it  came,  because  I  wished  him  not  as 
yet  to  know  that  it  came  from  Lord  Crewe. 

'  So  long  as  it  comes,'  he  said,  '  I  care  not  where  it  comes  from. 
They  made  me  pay  twenty-five  guineas  for  privilege  not  to  wear 
irons — they  are  making  great  fortunes  out  of  us,  these  turnkeys  and 
wardens — twenty-five  guineas,  and  as  much  for  Mr.  Patten  here — 
else  would  his  legs  be  clinking  as  he  went ' — Mr.  Patten  shook  his 
head  and  sighed.  '  Ten  guineas  I  paid  not  to  be  put  in  the  common 
side  ;  and  as  much  for  Mr.  Patten — else  he  would  be  among  the 
poor  devils  who  have  got  no  money,  and  pig  together  like  sows  in  a 
sty — now  he  hath  accommodation  with  no  more  than  two  or  three 
at  most  in  a  bed,  and  the  Press  Yard  to  walk  in  with  the  gentlemen, 
and  the  Ordinary  to  converse  with.' 

'  A  worthy  man,'  said  Mr.  Patten,  '  but  obstinate  on  the  vice  ofl 
rebellion,  and  perhaps  over-hot  for  the  Protestant  Succession.'  | 

'  Five  pounds  a  week  they  make  us  pay  for  lodging  in  th J 
Governor's  house,  and  another  five  pounds  for  a  room  to  myself 
and  what  with  garniture  here,  garniture  there,  fees  everywhere — 
hang  me  if  the  wealth  of  London  would  stand  a  whole  winter  in 
this  place !    But  perhaps  they  won't  keep  us  here  the  whole  winter  ' 

Mr.  Patten  groaned  aloud. 

'  As  for  company,'  Tom  went  on,  ^  there  are  all  our  old  friends. 
Charles  Badcliffe,  Ned  Swinburne  and  his  brother  Charles,  Perry 
Widdrington,  Jack  Hall,  Dick  Stokoe,  and  all  we  used  to  drink 
with  ;  we  can  drink  and  sing  together  as  much  as  ever,  but  there 
does  not  seem  much  stomach  for  it,  because,  Dorothy,  we  can  no 
longer  ride  together  :  and  as  for  other  company,  the  prison  is  always 
full  of  it.' 

He  then  went  on  to  tell  me  how  these  friends  of  ours  were 
treated.  The  prison  consists,  first,  of  what  is  called  the  '  Common 
Side,'  with  the  '  Lions'  Den  '  and  the  '  Middle  Dark,'  where  the 
baser  sort  are  confined.  I  know  not  what  must  be  the  suHerings  of 
the  poor  creatures  who,  for  lack  of  money,  are  thrust  into  these 


THE  UNFORTUNATE  MR.  PAUL, 


249 


dreadful  places,  which  are,  to  begin  with,  filled  with  men  and 
women  of  the  vilest  kind,  creatures  without  (as  it  would  seem)  one 
spark  left  of  virtue,  religion,  or  decency.  Some  of  those  who  were 
in  that  dreadful  place  were  my  own  friends,  the  gallant  lads  I  had 
known  from  childhood.  They  stayed  not  long  ;  if  the  Jacobites  of 
London  would  not  fight,  they  could,  and  did,  find  money,  and 
before  long  every  gentleman  in  the  gaol  found  such  accommodation 
as  was  possible  to  be  obtained  in  the  place.  For  those  who  had 
money  might  buy  the  right  of  using  the  Press  Yard  by  day,  with 
beds  in  the  rooms  round  it  belonging  to  the  Governor.  As  for 
scenes  of  despair,  I  know  not  what  they  might  suffer  on  the  Common 
Side,  but  in  the  Press  Yard  into  which  I  looked,  there  seemed 
nothing  but  jollity,  drinking,  and  mirth.  Is  it  possible,  I  asked 
myself,  that  men  who  are  in  peril  of  being  sentenced  to  death  can  face 
the  danger  with  hearts  so  callous  ?  Why,  here  was  a  knot  of  men  in 
a  drinking-box  as  unconcerned  as  if  they  were  mere  visitors,  or  the 
place  was  a  common  tavern.  Some  were  playing  cards,  some  were 
talking  vehemently,  some  quarrelling,  some  playing  tennis,  some 
smoking  tobacco,  some  lounging  against  doorposts  ;  but  as  for  any 
decent,  God-fearing  behaviour,  that  I  think  one  might  look  for  in 
vain.  All  day  long  they  spent  in  the  Press  Yard,  unless  at  meals  ; 
at  ten  o'clock  they  were  locked  in  their  rooms,  where  sometimes 
two  or  three  had  to  sleep  on  the  same  bed,  until  eight  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

'  It  is  a  wretched  place,'  said  Tom ;  '  and  an  insult  to  a  gentleman 
to  send  him  here.  Why,  I  expected  at  least  such  a  respect  due  to 
my  position  as  to  be  sent  to  the  Tov/er.  But  no  ;  here  I  am,  as  you 
see,  shut  up  with  the  rank  and  file,  as  one  may  say.' 

'  Yet  you  are  in  good  company,'  I  said  ;  '  since  all  your  old  friends 
are  with  you.' 

'  Why  am  I  not  with  the  lords  iu  the  Tower  ?'  he  repeated. 
'  Surely  the  General  of  the  army  might  be  treated  with  as  much 
consideration  as  any  nobleman  in  his  command.  I  take  it  ill, 
Dorothy,  I  assure  you.  Some  private  enemy  hath  interposed  to  rob 
iWe  of  the  honour  due  to  me.' 

j  I  thought  that  when  it  came  to  getting  him  out,  I  would  rather 
ihe  was  in  Newgate  than  in  the  Tower  ;  but  I  did  not  say  so. 
\  '  As  for  my  trial,'  he  said,  '  I  care  not  when  it  comes  on ;  I  am 
^ssured  that  I  have  friends  enough  to  pack  a  jury.  As  for  that, 
•jthey  will  find  it  difficult  to  get  any  jury  to  convict.  I  do  not  fear, 
Dorothy.  Then  it  will  be  our  turn  next,  and  we  will  let  these 
^gent^enien  have  a  taste  of  the  Press  Yard.' 

f  I  believe  that  his  friends  were  right  in  so  advising  him  ;  no  jury 
/could  have  been  found  to  agree  in  a  verdict,  unless  it  was  made  up 
of  Nonconformists.  But  his  face  and  the  faces  of  all  lengthened 
when  they  found  that  they  would  not  be  tried  by  a  jury  at  all. 
When  the  Government  went  back  to  trial  by  jury,  the  verdict  in 
the  cases  of  Ferguson  and  Innes,  Tildesley  and  Towneley,  in  which 
the  evidence  was  plain,  and  yet  the  prisoners  were  acc^uitted,  showed 
how  much  a  jury  could  be  trusted. 


250 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


*  And  where/  asked  Tom,  '  is  honest  Tony  ?* 

*  Ah  !'  said  Mr.  Patten,  '  hath  our  good  Antony  escaped  ?  or  was 
he  among  those  taken  to  Liverpool  ?' 

He  looked,  although  Mr.  Hilyard  bore  such  testimony  to  his 
friendliness,  as  if  he  would  rather  hear  that  he  was  among  the 
prisoners  in  the  north.  I  could  never  believe  of  this  man  that  he 
wished  Mr.  Hilyard  well. 

'  He  is  safe,'  I  replied  ;  *  and  I  hope  we  shall  hear  of  his  doing  a 
good  stroke  for  us  as  soon  as  he  can  get  about  without  fear.' 

Here  again  I  rejoiced,  afterwards,  that  I  did  not  let  Mr.  Patten 
know  where  his  enemy  was  to  be  found. 

'I  would  he  were  with  me,'  said  Tom.  *  I  miss  him  more  than 
enough.  Without  Tony  a  bowl  of  whisky  punch  seems  only  half 
complete.  But  one  would  not  have  him  taken  neither  ;  while  as  for 
singing — I  doubt  if  I  shall  ever  hear  another  song  again.' 

'  Nay,  sir,'  said  his  chaplain,  *  cheer  up.  The  small  and  unimpor- 
tant persons,  such  as  myself  and  Mr.  Hilyard,  if  he  be  caught,  will 
certainly  be  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered.  We  can  expect  no  less. 
But  for  the  quality,  who  have  friends  and  influence  in  high  places, 
why,  you  may  be  sure  to  expect  favour.  As  for  us — well,  let  us  be 
thankful  that  we  have  done  our  duty  in  the  world.  He  who  dies 
for  his  country  ' 

'  Pshaw  !'  said  Tom.  '  Thou  must  for  ever  be  talking  about 
dying.  Hang  it,  Mr.  Patten,  canst  thou  not  drink  about  like  % 
Christian,  and  leave  dying  till  thou  art  sentenced  ?' 

'  Ah  !'  he  replied,  with  a  deep  sigh.    '  Mr.  Hilyard  is  a  happ^' 
man.    Will  he  not.  Miss  Dorothy,  who  can  play  so  many  parts, 
upon  himself  a  disguise  and  visit  his  old  friends  ?'  $ 

'  Nay,'  I  said,  '  Mr.  Hilyard  is  safest  without  these  walls.*  j 

'  You  did  not  say,'  he  went  on,  '  where  he  is  now  in  hiding.'  j 

I  do  not  know  whether  he  was  already  contemplating  his  greaf 
villainy,  but  I  mistrusted  the  man,  and  so  made  no  reply. 

'  All  the  way  to  London,'  Tom  went  on,  '  we  were  cheered  by  tlK- 
whisper  that  we  should  be  rescued  on  the  road.    Why,  where  Aver  ) 
all  the  loyal  gentlemen  we  had  heard  so  much  of  ?    A  hundre(' 
gallant  fellows  with  sword  and  pistol  could  have  done  it.    Yet  the/ 
sat  still.    To-day  it  was  to  be  in  the  evening  ;  in  the  evening,  nexi| 
'day  ;  so  they  cheated  us.    At  last  we  were  to  be  rescued  in  the  verjl 
London  streets  ;  yet  there  was  not  a  voice  in  our  favour,  but  curses  f 
upon  us  all  the  way,  as  if  we  had  not  a  friend  in  the  City.'  ' 

They  rose  on  the  assurance  that  there  were  thousands  to  joii. 
them  ;  they  rode  contentedly  south,  looking  daily  for  a  rescue  br 
their  friends  ;  even  in  London  streets  they  reckoned  on  escape. 
Ah  !  what  a  Fool's  Paradise  was  this,  in  which  we  had  all  lived  so 
long  !  And  how  wise  was  I  become  after  my  journey  among  the 
common  sort  of  England,  and  all  the  talk  I  had  heard  of  Pope  and 
of  Pretender  !  Methinks,  though  the  voice  of  the  people  be  fickle 
and  variable,  they  reckon  foolishly  who  reckon  without  it. 


A  NOBLE  PROJECT. 


251 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 

A  NOBLE  PROJECT. 

I  HAVE  now  to  tell  of  a  project,  daring  and  yet  most  simple,  which 
was  set  on  foot  at  this  time,  and  unknown  to  any  of  those  most 
concerned  in  it — Lady  Derwentwater  went  to  her  dying  day  in 
ignorance  of  it.  True  it  is  that  by  the  act  and  overruling  will  of 
Providence  the  design  was  frustrated,  but  I  fii^mly  believe  it  would 
have  succeeded  save  for  this  misfortune. 

It  was  not  hatched  and  invented  by  Mr.  Hilj'ard,  whose  designs 
were  truly  ingenious,  but  magnificent,  as  becomes  one  who  hath  read 
the  tragic  pieces  of  Greece  and  Rome,  and  knows  what  a  plot  should 
be ;  crooked  also,  full  of  surprises,  dangers,  and  demanding  the 
assistance  of  a  great  number  of  people,  as  is  the  case  always  with 
high  tragedy.  A  simple  contrivance  was  not,  in  so  great  a  matter, 
worthy  of  consideration.  The  design  of  which  I  speak  was  due  to 
Jenny  Lee  alone,  who  must  have  all  the  credit,  though,  in  her 
present  condition,  the  poor  creature  cannot,  I  am  sure,  feel  any 
glory  in  this,  or  in  any  other  scheme.  You  shall  presently  hear 
what  it  was. 

Mr.  Hilyard,  partly  with  a  view  of  giving  me  what  he  called  a 
just  view  of  the  noble  art  of  acting,  partly  that  he  might  lead  me  to 
regard  Jenny  with  favour,  and  partly  hoping  to  divert  my  mind 
from  the  continual  contemplation  of  misfortune,  persuaded  me  one 
evening  to  let  him  carry  me  to  the  play.    A  country-bred  woman, 
who  hath  seen  but  one  London  theatre  in  her  life,  may  without 
shame  confess  that  it  seemed  to  her  like  an  enchanted  island,  and 
that,  though  the  house  was  full  of  finely-dressed  women  and  gallant 
gentlemen,  she  had  no  eyes  for  them,  or  for  anything  else,  so  long 
:  as  the  actors  were  on  the  stage.    The  piece  performed  was  a  very 
;  fine  tragedy,  namely,  Dryden's  '  Conquest  of  Granada,'  in  which, 
j  Mr.  Hilyard  told  me,  Nelly  Gwynne,  the  mother  of  the  Duke  of 
St.  Albans,  formerly  played  the  part  now  given  to  Jenny.    I  con- 
fess, further,  that  I  was  astonished  beyond  measure  to  see  this  girl, 
.  only  a  short  while  since  a  mere  slip  of  a  lady's-maid,  with  a  curtsey 
;  to  the  ladies  and  a  smile  to  the  gentlemcD  who  chucked  her  under 
^  the  chin  (as  is  a  familiar  though  reprehensible  custom  in  Northum- 
/  berland),  and  humble  to  all,  should  be  transformed  into  a  Princess 
moving  with  majesty  and  heroic  courage  among  the  most  frightful 
scenes  of  war  and  death.    'Twas  truly  wonderful !  • 

'  There  were  many,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  when  we  came  away,  '  who 
could  not  listen  to  the  play  for  looking  at  the' lovely  Incognita  who 
was  in  the  boxes  ' — he  meant  me.  '  Thus  will  beauty  prevail  evcD 
over  the  splendour  of  the  stage.  And  when  the  beaux  flocked  out 
and  made  a  lane  to  see  you  pass,  you  looked  neither  to  the  right 
nor  to  the  left,  but  passed  through  them  all  as  cold  and  as  heedless 
as  Diana.* 


252 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


*  Why/  I  said,  '  I  was  not  thinking  of  them.  How  should  I  ? 
My  thoughts  were  with  the  unlucky  Mahomet  Boabdilen,  the  last 
King  of  G-ranada — and  with  J enny — I  mean  ' 

*  Ah  !  Miss  Dorothy,  you  will  make  poor  Jenny  happy  only  to 
let  me  tell  her  that  she  was  able  to  turn  your  thoughts  aside  from 
the  crowded  house.' 

I  said  that  if  so  small  a  thing  could  make  her  happy,  she  was  very 
welcome  to  her  happiness. 

*  But  it  is  not  all,'  he  persisted.  ^  Jenny  humbly  desires  to  pay 
her  respects  to  you.  To  the  rest  of  the  world  she  is  the  Tragedy 
Queen  or  the  Comic  Muse,  but  to  you  she  bids  me  say  she  is,  and 
will  always  be,  your  faithful  servant.' 

'  Bring  her  to  me,  then,'  I  replied, '  in  Heaven's  name  !' 

So  he  left  me  at  my  lodging  and  went  aAvay,  I  suppose  to  sup 
with  the  actress  among  her  friends. 

But  next  day,  about  ten  in  the  forenoon,  comes,  if  you  please, 
Jenny  herself,  not  in  her  own  coach,  because,  I  suppose,  she  did  not 
desire  to  show  olf  her  newly-acquired  splendour,  but  walking,  and 
dressed,  not  richly,  but  plainly,  though  of  good  materials,  and  as  a 
wealthy  gentlewoman  would  desire  to  go  abroad. 

She  made  me  a  deep  reverence,  and  hoped  I  was  in  health,  and 
that  his  honour  my  brother  was  as  well  as  the  unfortunate  posture 
of  his  affairs  admitted.  In  the  old  times  she  stood  while  she 
answered  my  questions  ;  but  I  could  not  think  of  allowing  a  person 
who  could  assume  the  splendid  manners  I  had  seen  last  night  to 
stand,  whatever  her  past  history,  wherefore  I  bade  her  take  a  chair 
and  be  welcome,  and  congratulated  her  on  her  success. 

'  I  thank  your  ladyship,'  she  replied  ;  '  I  have  succeeded  far 
beyond  my  hopes.  For  at  first  I  thought  only  to  act  in  a  barn,  or 
at  a  fair,  like  the  people  I  ran  away  with  ;  it  was  grand  to  put  on 
fine  clothes  and  to  speak  fine  verses  ;  and  it  seemed  delightful  to  be 
free  and  have  no  masters  (yet  now  1  have  ten  thousand).  More 
than  this  I  never  thought  to  do.  Yet  you  see  me  now  at  Drury 
Lane.' 

'  Well,  Jenny,'  I  said,  '  Mr.  Hilyard  is  never  tired  of  singing  thy 
praises  ;  truly,  for  myself,  I  understand  not  acting  ;  yet  I  saw  thee 
last  night,  and,  believe  me,  child,  T  marvelled  greatly  at  thy  clever- 
ness, thy  quickness,  and  thy  courage.  Enough  said  about  Drury 
Lane  ;  tell  me  now,  Jenny,  about  Mr.  Frank  Badcliffe.' 

She  blushed  a  little — but  one  cannot  expect  many  blushes  of  an 
actress !  \ 

'  It  is  true,'  she  said,  ^  that  I  have  always  had  power  over  Frank 
Eadcliffe,  and  that  of  a  kind  which,  except  to  those  of  my  own 
people,  must  appear  strange.  Nay,  I  humbly  confess  that  I  deceived 
your  ladyship  at  Dilston  Hall  when  you  surprised  me  exercising 
that  power,  because  I  was  ashamed  and  afraid.  Since  then,  how- 
ever, I  practise  upon  him  in  this  way  no  more.  It  needs  not — 
Frank  is  in  love  with  me,  and  will  marry  me,  when  he  gets  better 
of  his  cough.' 

'  But  Jenny,  child,  Mr,  Frank  Radcliffe  is  a  gentleman.' 


A  NOBLE  PROJECT. 


2S3 


*  It  is  true,  madam,  and  I  am  only  an  actress.  But  he  will  marry 
me  as  soon  as  he  gets  better.' 

'  And  then  he  is  a  Papist  ;  and  you  are  ' 

'  I  am  a  gipsy,  madam.  But  he  will  marry  me  as  soon  as  he  gets 
better.  At  present  he  is  troubled  with  a  hacking  cough  that  gives 
him  no  rest  night  or  day.  But  this  will  pass  when  the  warm 
weather  comes.  And  so,  your  ladyship,  if  you  please  there  need  be 
no  more  said  on  this  head.  For  Frank  will  marry  me.  Papist  or 
Protestant,  lady  or  gipsy,  daughter  of  an  earl  or  plain  actress.' 

She  looked  so  resolute  and  spoke  with  such  decision,  that  I  now 
perceived  quite  clearly  my  old  Jenny  was  gone,  and  this  girl  before 
me  was  quite  another  kind  of  person.  But  that  I  had  already 
suspected. 

'  Wherefore,  my  lady,'  she  went  on  confidently,  though  in  the 
old  humble  manner  of  speech,  *  my  respects  paid  and  these  things 
explained,  I  desire  to  lay  before  you,  for  your  counsel,  a  project  or 
design  of  mine  own,  whereby,  if  all  goes  well,  we  may  effect  my 
lord's  escape.' 

'  Oh,  Jenny  !  know  you  what  your  words  mean  ?' 

^  Quite  well,  madam.  I  am  happy  to  see  that  your  ladyship  hath 
still  something  of  the  same  interest  in  my  lord  as  of  old.' 

*  Jenny,'  I  said,  '  I  know  not  if  you  are  in  earnest  ;  but  of  this 
be  assured.  My  interest  in  Lord  Derwentwater's  welfare  is  as  great 
as  ever  ;  nor  could  it  possibly  be  greater.  If  you  have  any  rational 
project  for  his  deliverance,  in  Heaven's  name  let  me  hear  it !  If  it 
be  a  secret,  be  sure  that  I  would  rather  die  a  hundred  deaths  than 
reveal  the  thing.    Tell  me,  Jenny,  what  it  is.' 

Then,  with  many  entreaties  for  secrecy,  because  the  pit  of  Drury 
Lane  was  all  for  the  Protestant  Succession,  and  she  would  be  hissed 
off  the  stage  if  the  thing  were  known  or  even  suspected  to  have 
come  from  her,  she  revealed  her  design. 

First,  she  assured  me,  and  I  readily  believed  her,  that  Frank 
Radcliffe  would  do  anything  she  told  him  to  do,  being  madly  in 
love  with  her  ;  next,  that  the  thing  she  wanted  him  to  do  was  per- 
fectly easy,  without  much  danger,  and  such  a  thing  as  would  make 
the  ears  of  those  that  beard  it  to  tingle  ;  thirdly,  that  Frank  had 
never  ceased  to  lament  his  lot  as  an  English  gentleman  who  yet,  for 
his  religion's  sake,  was  not  allowed  to  take  any  part  in  the  affairs 
of  the  nation,  and  condemned  to  a  private  and  inglorious  life  ;  and 
then,  after  this  preamble,  she  opened  her  design  to  me.  It  was,  in 
fact,  nothing  less  than  this. 

Frank  Radcliffe,  as  everybody  knows,  was  so  much  like  his 
brother,  save  that  he  was  somewhat  taller  of  stature  and  thinner, 
that  in  the  dusk,  and  among  those  who  knew  his  brother  imperfectly, 
he  might  very  well  pass  for  him.  Jenny,  therefore,  proposed  that, 
disguised  by  herself  with  a  little  painting  of  eyebrows  and  face,  and 
some  artful  touches  about  nose  and  mouth,  Frank  should  go  with 
her,  under  some  other  name,  to  see  his  brother  in  the  Tower. 
There  was  at  this  time  little  difficult}^  about  the  admission  of  visitors  ; 
everybody  was  passed  in  who  pleased  ;  they  might  even  go  into  the 


254 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


Bell  Tower  among  the  common  people  admitted  by  the  wardens, 
and  so  by  a  small  bribe,  or  by  entreaty,  or  by  pretence  of  some 
kind  or  other,  obtain  admission. 

'  Now  hearken.  Once  in  my  lord's  chamber,'  said  Jenny,  *  I 
whip  out  my  hare's  foot  and  my  sponge  ;  I  quickly  rub  out  the 
make-up  of  Frank  and  transfer  it  to  my  lord,  giving  him  dark  eye- 
brows, lips  turned  down,  eyes  longer  than  natural,  and  a  mouth  a 
little  turned  to  one  side  (which  disguises  most  wonderfully).  I 
shorten  his  chin  by  a  line  of  chalk  ;  I  give  his  nose  the  least  touch 
of  red  ;  and  I  paint  his  cheek  with  a  touch  or  two  of  colour  which 
now  it  lacks.  This  done,  they  exchange  perruques  and  coats. 
Frank  takes  my  lord's  long  wig  and  scarlet  coat,  and  he  Frank's 
brovm  drugget  and  plain  curled  vdg  of  black  horsehair.  Then  we 
go  away  crying — I  can  cry  so  as  to  move  all  hearts  ;  but  I  am  not 
certain  yet  what  I  will  be,  whether  his  nurse  or  his  aunt.  Lady 
Mary,  or  even  his  mother.  My  lord  vv^ill  come  after  me,  wagging 
his  head  as  they  do  on  the  stage — so — to  show  sympathy  and 
sorrow,  and  Frank  will  be  left  behind.  Then  for  a  moment  he  will 
show  his  noble  face  at  the  door  just  to  disarm  suspicion,  and  so 
back  again  quickly,  and  sit  down  quiet  till  time  hath  passed  suffi- 
cient for  us  to  get  out  of  the  Tower  and  away — whither,  we  must 
settle  when  we  have  effected  our  escape.' 

This  was  truly  a  notable  project.    Did  Frank  know  of  it  ? 

'  That,'  said  Jenny,  '  is  the  trouble  for  us.  At  present  he  knows 
nothing,  but  is  low  in  his  spirits,  thinking  of  his  brother  a  prisoner, 
and  himself  little  better,  since  his  cough  is  so  bad.  I  fear  as  yet  to 
tell  him,  lest  it  make  him  feverish  and  anxious  to  be  up  and  about, 
whereas  he  ought  at  present  to  be  resting  and  getting  well.' 

So  for  the  present  we  said  no  more  upon  that  head,  except  that 
Frank  was  not  to  be  told  until  his  cough  was  better. 

^  As  for  that,'  said  Jenny,  '  the  physicians  do  no  good  with  him, 
and  an  hour  of  my  art  is  worth  fifty  of  theirs.  If  I  were  with  him 
always  I  could  cure  him  of  his  cough,  or  of  anything.  Alas  !  Miss 
Dorothy,  you  knoAV  not  what  this  power  of  mine  can  do  for  him.' 

'  Jenny,'  I  asked  earnestly,  *  is  it  by  possession  of  the  devil  ? 
Tell  me,  for  the  sake  of  thine  eternal  soul.' 

She  laughed  at  this. 

'I  have  never  seen  the  devil,'  she  said  ;  *and  I  know  nought  of 
him.  Truly,  my  grandmother  might  tell  you  more  ;  but  she 
teaches,  the  poor  old  woman,  only  what  her  mother  taught  her. 
As  for  the  devil,  v/e  gipsies  know  nothing  of  any  devil.  Yet  I 
think  that  if  our  art  were  known,  all  the  world  would  flock  to  us  to 
be  healed,  instead  of  to  physicians.  If  I  were  to  tell  your  ladyship 
what  things  I  have  seen  and  what  pains  allayed — all  in  a  moment — 
but  you  would  never  believe  me  ' 

*  Yet — oh,  Jenny  ! — can  it  be  right  to  use  a  magic  power  ?' 

*  Magic — magic  ?'  she  repeated  ;  '  what  is  magic  ?  My  people 
have  secrets,  and  I  know  something  of  them.  Why ' — she  sprang  to 
her  feet  and  flung  out  her  arms — '  I  am  a  gipsy,  and  I  have  been 
your  ladyship's  servant ;  and  I  am  an  actress,  and  hundreds  of  fine 


IN  THE  TOWER. 


255 


gentlemen  love  me — in  the  way  of  fine  gentlemen  ;  and  one  man 
loves  me  so  well  that  he  would  take  me  away  and  make  me  his  wife, 
being  such  as  I  am.  What  can  I  do  for  that  gentleman  ?  Oh,  Miss 
Dorothy  !  if  my  art  were  indeed  as  you  think  it,  of  the  devil,  I 
would  still  practise  it  daily,  if  thus  I  could  restore  my  Frank  to 
health.' 

CHAPTEE  XXXIII. 

IN  THE  TOWER. 

By  this  time  all  the  friends  of  the  prisoners  had  hurried  up  to  town. 
Lady  Derwentwater,  poor  creature,  with  her  two  children,  was  stay- 
ing v/ith  the  Duchess  of  Cleveland  ;  the  Dowager  Countess,  with 
her  third  husband,  Mr.  Eooke,  was  come  to  save  her  son,  if  that 
was  possible  :  already  the  Court,  and  everybody  about  the  Court, 
the  Ministers,  and  all  who  were  thought  to  have  any  influence  with 
them,  were  besieged  with  petitions  and  entreaties  for  pardon.  What 
bribes  were  ottered  and  taken,  I  know  not  ;  but  a  good  many  who  were 
no  worse  than  those  executed  got  free  pardons.  Lady  Cowper  told 
me  afterwards  that  her  husband  was  offered  £60,000  to  procure 
the  pardon  of  Lord  Derwentwater.  They  tried  to  bribe  the  wrong 
man  ;  the  hands  of  those  far  lower  in  rank  should  have  been 
touched  with  gold.  But  you  shall  see.  It  made  my  heart  bleed, 
sad  as  I  was  on  my  own  account,  to  hear  Lady  Cowper's  tales  of  the 
poor  women  who  came  to  her  daily,  because  she  was  of  the  North 
Country,  to  beg  her  influence,  and  fell  at  her  feet  and  wept.  She 
was  so  tender  and  compassionate  a  woman,  that  I  am  sure  she  used 
her  influence  as  she  could,  and  perhaps  got  off  many  more  besides 
her  cousins,  Mr.  Clavering  and  his  son. 

The  Countess  placed  her  whole  hope  in  her  husband's  powerful 
friends  and  connections.  The  Dukes  of  Hichmond  and  St.  Albans, 
his  cousins,  were  on  the  other  side  ;  vvould  they  allovf  their  kinsman's 
head  to  fall  without  an  eHort !  Alas !  her  hope  proved  a  broken 
reed  ;  these  noble  lords  begged  for  a  pardon,  but  they  begged  in 
vain,  and  I  doubt  whether  they  begged  in  the  only  way  which  was 
able  to  touch  the  King's  heart,  namely,  by  threats.  Lord  Derwent- 
water was  their  kinsman,  true  ;  but  unfortunately  he  was  not  their 
friend.  Among  the  Peers  he  had  no  friends.  Why,  Lord  Nairn 
got  off  because  he  had  an  old  schoolfellow  among  the  Ministers  ; 
but  there  was  no  one  who  had  known  Lord  Derwentwater  as  a  boy. 
Truly,  to  be  a  Roman  Catholic  in  this  realm  of  England  is  to  be 
placed  at  a  great  disadvantage.  One  would  not,  surely,  wish  it 
otherwise  ;  but  for  my  lord's  sake  it  must  needs  be  lamented.  There 
were  seven  lords  in  the  Tower ;  in  the  end  five  got  off.  Why  did  they 
execute  the  other  two  ?  Were  they  more  criminal  than  the  rest  ? 
Alas  !  no  ;  but  they  were  more  friendless,  and  one  of  them  was  near 
by  blood  to  the  Prince. 

I  sought  the  Countess  as  soon  as  I  learned  where  she  was.  She 
seemed,  at  first,  full  of  hope — even  of  confidence.  The  King  would 
not  dare  to  displeasure  so  many  great  lords  who  would  implore  his 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


pardon  for  her  husband  ;  his  own  seat  was  not  so  secure  as  to 
warrant  the  throwing  away  of  powerful  friends  ;  his  cause  would 
be  best  served  by  clemency.  She  repeated  these  arguments 
so  often,  and  with  so  many  interjections,  pauses,  catching  of  her 
babes  to  her  breast,  that  I  could  very  well  perceive  the  secret  terror 
in  her  heart.  Her  cheeks  were  wan  ;  her  eyes  were  hollow  ;  she 
was  consumed  by  her  anxiety  as  by  a  fever.  She  owned  to  me 
presently  that  at  night  she  could  not  sleep,  but  passed  the  hours  on 
her  knees,  offering  herself,  her  children,  her  all  to  the  Yirgin,  in 
return  for  the  life — only  the  life — of  her  husband. 

'Alas !'  she  cried,  '  Heaven  is  not  deaf  ;  the  Lord  is  very  merciful. 
I  have  by  letters  asked  the  Augustine  Sisters  in  Paris  to  pray  for 
me  ;  day  and  night  there  is  a  taper  burning  before  the  Yirgin  in 
their  chapel  ;  the  good  Sisters  pray  for  me  vfithout  ceasing.  Or 
when  1  am  not  praying  I  importune  some  great  man  or  some  great 
lady  to  do  something  for  my  lord.  They  tell  me  the  law  must  have 
its  course ;  there  must  be  a  trial — I  care  not  what  they  say  or  do  at 
the  trial,  if  he  be  pardoned  after  it  ;  I  must  expect — yes,  I  look — 
to  hear  that  he  is  sentenced  to  execution — but  that  matters  nothing 
if  they  mean  to  let  him  go.  Why,  if  he  be  but  suffered  to  live,  I 
promise  that  not  he  only,  but  his  son  after  him,  shall  sit  quiet  at 
home  even  if  the  Prince  with  his  forces  be  marching  through 
England  from  victory  to  victory.' 

Then  she  went  on,  now  assuring  herself  of  his  safety,  and  now 
confessing  her  fears,  and  it  was  dreadful  sorrow  and  pain  only  to 
hear  her.  She  saw  her  husband  almost  daily,  and  in  his  presence,  I 
am  told,  she  controlled  herself  and  was  calm,  as  both  the  brave  souls 
were,  for  fear  of  making  each  other  more  unhappy.  Sometimes  I 
asked  myself  whether  she  ever  repented  of  throwing  down  her  fan 
on  the  day  of  the  meeting.  I  think  she  did  not,  because  I,  who  was 
as  vehement  as  herself,  have  not  and  never  shall  repent  of  my 
earnestness.  For  if  the  cause  was  just,  and  the  time  was  ripe,  why 
should  we  delay  the  blow  ?  Let  the  blame  lie  on  those  wicked  and 
mischievous  men  who  persuaded  us  that  the  time  was  really  ripe  for 
action  and  the  hour  come,  not  on  those  who  believed  and  were 
deceived  to  their  own  destruction. 

In  the  midst  of  his  own  trouble  my  lord  found  time  to  think  of 
me.  One  day  about  the  New  Year  the  Countess  gave  me  a  letter 
from  him. 

'  My  dear  Cousin  Dorothy,'  it  said, 

'  I  hear  that  you  are  in  London  about  Tom's  unhappy  busi- 
ness. It  would  comfort  me  greatly  if  I  could  see  you,  and  I  doubt 
not,  if  you  can  come  here,  they  will  admit  you  to  see  me.  God  send 
us  all  a  happy  deliverance  !  Though  for  myself  I  dare  not  hope^  yet 
as  for  Tom,  whose  only  fault  was  his  easy  temper,  by  which  design- 
ing persons  led  him  (and  us)  to  confusion,  I  hope  and  believe  that 
he  will  escape.  Comfort  my  dear  wife,  and  keep  up  your  own  heart. 

'  Your  loving  Cousin  and  Friend, 

DeR  WENT  WATER,' 


IN  THE  TO  WEK. 


-57 


*  Go  to  see  him,  Dorothy,'  said  the  Countess  ;  *  it  only  because  he 
hath  always  loved  you  well  and  taken  pleasure  in  your  conversation. 
Besides,  he  desires  to  send  some  message  to  your  brother  about  I 
know  not  what.' 

I  rejoice  now,  though  then  it  seemed  a  terrible  thing  to  do,  that 
I  had  courage  to  visit  my  lord  in  that  gloomy  place,  the  Tower,  the 
very  name  of  which  fills  the  heart  with  terror.  I  have  him  always 
in  my  mind  with  that  proud  bearing  and  steadfast  eye  with  which 
he  encountered  the  insults  of  the  mob.  It  is  well  also  to  think  of 
him  as  he  was  when  he  sat  in  his  prison,  endeavouring  to  be  resigned 
to  his  untimely  fate,  yet  not  without  hope  ;  cheerful,  as  becomes  a 
Christian  ;  and  brave,  as  becomes  a  gentleman. 

I  rode  to  the  Tower  through  the  City  in  a  hackney-coach,  having 
my  landlady,  Purdy's  wife,  with  me  for  guide  or  protector.  The 
day  was  so  cold  and  the  streets  so  frozen,  that  our  coachman  went 
but  slowly,  and  the  good  woman  with  me  had  time  to  point  out  all 
the  places  along  which  we  passed.  First,  St.  Sepulchre's  Church  ; 
then  Newgate  Prison  (which  I  already  knew  so  well)  ;  then  through 
the  gate  with  the  effigy  of  Dick  Whittington  and  his  cat  upon  it ;  the 
narrow  and  evil-smeliing  Newgate  Street,  its  bulkheads  coi'eredwith 
meat,  the  gutters  running  blood,  and  greasy  butchers  carrying  car- 
cases upon  their  shoulders  ;  and  after  Newgate  Street  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral  (truly  a  great  and  wonderful  building),  and  then  crowded 
streets  without  number  (but  among  them  the  tall  Monument)  ;  and 
presently  a  wide,  open  space,  with,  on  the  right  hand,  a  broad  river 
and  a  forest  of  masts,  and  before  me  a  great  white  castle,  which  is 
none  other  than  the  Tower  of  London,  where  so  many  unfortunate 
lords  have  been  confined. 

When  our  coachman  drew  up  before  a  kind  of  wicket,  I  observed 
first  that  the  gate  was  guarded  by  a  dozen  or  twenty  men,  in  scarlet 
jerkins,  and  caps  of  some  old  fashion  ;  these  are  the  buffetiers. 
Beyond  them,  in  a  court-yard,  was  a  troop  of  foot-soldiers,  some  on 
guard,  some  standing  about  in  the  door,  some  within  the  guard- 
room, sitting  beside  a  great  fire.  Outside  the  gate  there  was  a  little 
crowd  of  men  and  women,  some  of  them  belonging  to  the  better 
sort.  As  I  stood  and  looked  at  them,  one  stepped  forward  and 
flourished  his  hat. 

'  We  hope,'  he  said,  '  that  your  ladyship  is  on  the  right  side — that 
is  to  say,  the  side  for  which  the  lords  within  are  prisoners.' 

Thus  bold  with  their  opinions  were  the  Jacobites  of  London. 
Alas  !  had  they  been  as  bold  with  their  swords  ! 

And  the  rest  of  the  crowd  murmured  approval,  and  the  women 
cried,  '  God  help  the  poor  prisoners  !'  and  the  men  said,  *  Lord  bless 
the  lady's  pretty  face,  whoever  she  is.' 

'My  friends,'  I  said,  'I  am  going  to  see  my  cousin.  Lord  Der- 
wentwater  ;  and  I  am  the  sister  of  General  Forster,  now  in  New- 
gate.' 

Then  they  all  bowed,  and  made  way  for  me  with  great  re- 
spect. 

When  I  came  out,  they  were  waiting  for  me  ;  and  after  I  got  into 

17 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


my  coach,  they  walked  beside  me  in  a  kind  of  procession  as  far  as 
Tower  Street,  where  they  cheered  me  loudly  and  left  me. 

Two  of  the  prisoners,  namely,  Lords  Derwentwater  and  Niths- 
dale,  were  confined  in  what  they  call  the  Bell  Tower.  It  is  close 
to  the  entrance,  and  is  the  only  part  of  the  great  gloomy  building 
which  I  saw.  They  were  placed  in  two  chambers  on  the  second 
story  which  lead  out  of  a  large  room  called  the  Council  Chamber, 
the  same  in  which  G-uy  Fawkes  was  tortured  and  examined.  When 
I  was  conducted  to  this  room  I  found  it  filled  not  only  with  guards 
and  wardens  on  duty,  but  also  with  people,  chiefly  women,  who 
had  been  suffered  to  come  here  by  these  men,  or  paid  for  admission, 
in  order  to  look  upon  those  who  visited  the  prisoners.  This,  be- 
cause they  gazed  so  earnestly  upon  me,  and  asked  each  other  aloud 
who  I  might  be,  I  thought  at  the  time  was  cruel  and  unfeeling  ;  but 
now  one  blesses  the  happy  chance,  because  it  was  the  presence  of 
such  a  crowd  which  enabled  Lady  Nithsdale  to  get  off  her  husband. 
However,  they  kept  me  waiting  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  ad- 
mitted me  to  his  lordship. 

It  was  a  small  chamber,  but  decently  furnished.  My  lord,  who 
was  writing  at  the  table,  rose  to  welcome  me  with  his  ready  smile. 

*  Why,  Cousin  Dorothy,'  he  said,  'it  is  kind  to  brave  the  mob  on 
so  cold  a  day  as  this  in  order  to  visit  a  poor  prisoner.  Oh  !  as  to 
my  health,  that  matters  nothing  now,  and  my  comfort  very  little. 
As  I  have  made  my  bed,  so  must  I  lie  upon  it.  Nay,  Dorothy,  do 
not  cry.  If  a  man  stakes  his  all  upon  a  hopeless  chance,  he  must 
look  to  lose.  Perhaps,  before  I  die,  I  may  bring  myself  to  forgive 
those  whose  lies  and  treacheries  brought  us  to  this  pass.  Were  it 
not,  indeed,  for  my  wife  and  hapless  babies  ' 

He  turned  his  head  and  was  silent. 

'My  lord,'  I  said,  trying  to  bring  him  hope,  'you  do  yourself  an 
injustice.  You  are  not  yet  even  tried  ;  you  have  many  friends — 
more  than  you  know  of.  Great  ladies  and  gentlemen,  men  of 
exalted  rank  there  are,  who  will  leave  no  stone  unturned  for  you.' 

'If  all  England  were  my  friend,  Dorothy,  it  would  avail  me 
nothing  so  long  as  I  have  one  enemy — and  he  the  King.' 

And  to  this  he  returned  again  presently,  declaring  always  that  the 
King  himself  was  resolved  upon  his  destruction.  And  that  he 
knew  for  certain  that  the  King  regarded  the  Prince  and  all  his  per- 
sonal friends  with  peculiar  hatred  and  malice. 

*  Besides,'  he  said,  '  if  any  are  to  be  sentenced,  shall  the  leaders 
escape  and  the  followers  suffer  ?    Would  that  be  justice  ?' 

'  Since  the  power  of  this  new  King,'  I  said,  '  is  now  proved  by  the 
failure  of  the  Bebellion,  which  has  established  him  on  a  firmer 
footing  and  therefore  done  him  all  the  good  possible,  why  can  he 
not  pardon  all  ?' 

'  Because  history  is  not  made  up  of  pardons,  but  of  sentences  and 
executions.  However,  in  this  place,'  he  said,  '  we  have,  at  least, 
time  for  meditation  ;  and  if  I  were  to  write  a  narrative  of  the  Re- 
bellion I  should  call  it  "  The  History  of  a  Hundred  Fools  and  Half- 
a-dozen  Knaves."    The  knaves,  I  trust,  will  at  least  receive  the 


IN  THE  TO  WER. 


same  punishment  as  the  fools.  As  for  us,  I  know  not  which  should 
be  considered  the  greatest  fool  of  any,  but  I  think  it  must  be  myself, 
unless  it  were  Tom  Forster.' 

He  then  told  me  that  he  had  strong  reason  to  believe  there  would 
be  found  among  the  prisoners  one  or  two  to  give  King's  evidence  in 
order  to  save  themselves.    This  was  what  Lady  Cowper  hinted. 

*I  trust,'  he  said,  *that  among  my  own  friends  there  is  not  one 
who  would  play  so  base  a  part  ;  and  I  think,  nay,  I  am  sure,  that 
there  is  plenty  of  evidence  to  hang  most  of  us  without  such  assist- 
ance. Go  to  Tom,  however,  and  tell  him  so  much  from  me,  that  he 
and  his  fi'iends  may  be  warned  against  traitors  in  the  camp.' 

He  put  aside  this  matter,  and  began  first  calmly  and  reasonably 
to  consider  the  mistakes  which  had  been  made  in  their  short  cam- 
paign ;  especially  their  neglect  in  not  enlisting  as  many  as  offered  ; 
in  not  providing  ammunition  and  provisions  ;  and  in  entering 
England  so  ill  prepared.  And  next  he  told  me  he  was  already 
thinking  of  his  defence,  and  that  he  was  careful  not  to  say  aught 
that  might  implicate  my  brother  any  deeper  in  the  business. 

'  I  am  told,'  he  added,  '  that  an  attempt  will  be  made  to  prove  my 
cousin,  Tom  Forster,  the  author  of  the  whole  design — whereas  he 
was  but  an  instrument — and  as  the  man  who  drew  us  all  in.  There- 
fore I  shall  maintain  the  clean  contrary.  I  rose  for  my  lawful 
Sovereign,  first,  because  it  was  my  duty  when  the  time  came  ;  next, 
because  I  was  assured,  being  myself  ignorant  of  the  feeling  of  the 
people,  that  every  gentleman  in  the  country  would  rise  with  us. 
Tell  Tom  this  also,  from  me,  cousin.  And  tell  him,  moreover,  that 
though  many  blame  him  for  the  Preston  surrender,  I  do  not.  The 
case  was  hopeless  ;  more  would  have  been  killed  trying  to  cut  their 
way  through  than  will  now,  probably,  be  beheaded  or  hanged.  Yet 
I  still  wish  we  had  run  the  chance.  So  let  us  think  kindly  of  each 
other  ;  if  both  die,  let  us  meet  in  heaven  as  brothers  ;  and  if  I  only^ 
let  him  remember  me  Avith  sorrow  and  kindness.' 

*  And  if  neither,  my  lord  ?' 

*  Why,  then  '  he  laughed  gently.    *  But  'tis  impossible,  the 

King  being  such  as  he  is.  Yet  if  neither,  then,  Dorothy,  I  promise 
to  oblige  Tom  by  sitting  with  him  as  far  as  t'other  bottle.' 

Then  he  was  silent  awhile,  gazing  before  him  as  one  who  sees  in 
fancy  a  pageant  of  the  past. 

'Dorothy,'  he  said  softly,  'you  remember  the  time,  five  years 
ago,  when  I  used  to  ride  across  the  moor  to  Blanchland  to  walk  and 
talk  with  the  sweetest  girl  in  Northumberland.' 

'  Oh !  my  lord,  you  must  not  say  that  any  more  ;  you  must  not 
even  think  such  a  thing.  But  as  for  me,  can  I  ever  forget  that 
season  ?' 

'  Why,  I  am  married  since  then,  and  have  a  wife  whom  I  dearly 
love,  and  she  hath  made  me  the  happiest  of  men  ;  yet  withal,  by 
your  leave,  Dorothy,  fair  cousin,  I  do  still  remember  that  time,  and 
the  sweet  looks  and  gentle  smiles  of  her  who  refused  me  for 
conscience'  sake.    I  say  it  in  all  honesty,  my  cousin.* 

'  My  lord,  you  can  say  nothing  but  in  honesty.' 


266 


DOROTHY  FORSTkR. 


*  It  was  from  your  lips,  cousin,  that  I  learned  what  in  St.  Ger- 
main's I  could  not  learn,  what  should  be  the  conduct  of  a  true 
English  gentleman,  and  what  his  duty  to  those  who  depend  upon 
him.  Why,  I  was  not  half  an  Englishman.  How  ignorant  I  was 
in  those  days  no  one  but  yourself  has  ever  known.  It  was  your 
kind  heart  that  taught  me  to  desire  the  love  of  the  people.  In 
France  we  regard  them  not,  and  care  neither  for  their  affection  nor 
their  hatred.  It  comforts  me,  now,  to  think  that,  thanks  to  your 
noble  teaching,  my  people  will  grieve  for  me  when  I  am  dead. 
Well,  it  is  over  ;  you  and  I  will  never  walk  and  talk  together  any 
more  ;  yet  we  have  been  happy.  And  now  I  am  tied  up  in  the 
slaughter-house,  waiting  for  the  man  with  the  knife.  And  Charles, 
poor  lad  !  is  in  Newgate.    And  Frank — where  is  Frank  ?' 

'  Frank  is  in  London,  but  he  is  grievously  sick  with  a  cough  which 
leaves  him  not  day  or  night,  so  that  he  cannot  quit  his  chamber. 
And  much  I  fear  that  he  will  never  go  abroad  again.' 

I  did  not  tell  him — because  why  should  he  be  vexed  ? — that  Frank 
was  also  held  in  bondage  by  his  strange  and  vehement  passion. 

*  Poor  Frank  !  he  sighed.  '  This  it  is  to  inherit  the  unlucky 
blood  of  the  Stuarts.  The  Radcliffes  did  very  well  until — poor 
Frank !  Charles  told  me  something  of  an  actress — but  I  forget 
what.  Tell  him  if  you  see  him,  Dorothy,  that  I  can  give  him  my 
prayers  for  the  short  time  left  me  in  life,  but  nothing  more.  Two 
of  us  in  grievous  jeopardy  of  the  scaffold,  and  one  like  to  die  of  a 
cough.  'Tis  an  excellent  and  a  hopeful  beginning  of  the  New 
Year !'  ^ 

It  was  growing  dark,  and  time  for  me  to  go.  So  in  the  twilight 
of  that  too  dismal  New  Year's  Day,  and  in  that  gloomy  place,  we 
stood  to  say  farewell,  face  to  face.    He  held  both  my  hands  in  his. 

*  Farewell,  sweet  cousin — dear  sister,  whom  I  have  always  loved. 
If  we  meet  no  more,  farewell.' 

He  kissed  me  on  the  forehead  and  lips,  and  so  I  left  him,  and — 
alas !  alas  ! — I  looked  upon  his  noble  face  no  more. 

CIIAPTEE  XXXIV. 

MR.    HILYARD'S  FREEDOM. 

A  DAY  or  two  after  this  Mr.  Hilyard  appeared  no  longer  in  the  dis- 
guise of  a  physician,  but  dressed  as  a  sober  and  grave  citizen  ;  that  is 
to  say,  in  no  disguise  at  all,  having  bartered  his  physician's  wig  for 
a  full  wig  such  as  that  worn  by  the  better  sort,  and  his  black  clothes 
for  a  plum-coloured  coat  and  waistcoat  of  the  same. 
'  What  is  this  new  disguise  ?'  I  asked. 

*  No  disguise  at  all,'  he  replied.  *  I  am  now  a  free  man,  and  need 
not  hide  my  head  at  all.  There  is  no  warrant  out  for  me  ;  and  if 
there  were,  I  am  assured  of  my  pardon.' 

I  asked  him  how  this  was. 

*  Miss  Dorothy,'  he  replied,  smiling,  *  the  son  of  a  vintner  need 
not  be  too  proud  to  take  favours  from  a  gipsy,  or  even  an  actress.* 

*  Is  this,  then,  Jenny  Lee's  doing  ?' 


MR,  HILYARUS  FREEDOM, 


261 


*  I  will  tell  you  in  a  few  words.  Know,  then,  that  Jenny  loves 
to  entertain  her  friends,  after  the  theatre,  to  supper  at  her  own 
lodging,  and  has  been  so  good  as  to  invite  me  to  make  one  whenever 
I  please.  Many  gentlemen — wits,  Templars,  poets,  and  the  like,  go 
there,  and  some  are  men  of  rank.  Jenny  cares  not  who  they  are,  so 
long  as  they  amuse  her  and  make  her  laugh;  which  is  all  she  loves.' 

I  had  already,  as  I  have  said,  seen  Jenny  on  the  stage  (at  Mr. 
Hilyard's  urgent  entreaty,  but  from  no  desire  of  my  own),  and  a 
very  moving  spectacle  I  confess  it  was.  Her  part  was  so  full  of 
noble  sentiments  that  I  began  to  understand  Mr.  Hilyard's  admira- 
tion for  acting.  Why,  if  all  actresses  and  actors  are  thus  full  of 
virtuous  and  lofty  discourse  there  can  be  no  question  that  theirs  is 
truly  a  great  and  wonderful  profession,  and  worthy  of  all  honour. 
But  now  Mr.  Hilyard  told  me  that  laughter  was  all  she  cared  for. 
Yet  she  seemed  in  her  part  possessed  of  the  finest  and  most  exqui- 
site sensibility.  How,  after  this,  can  Mr.  Hilyard  persist  that  acting 
is  an  art  which  hath  in  it  something  of  the  divine  ?  To  care  for 
nothing  but  laughing ! 

'  Among  her  friends,'  Mr.  Hilyard  went  on,  *  who  come  to  sup 
with  her  after  the  play  is  a  certain  great  Whig  lord — yes,  a  very 
great  and  powerful  lord  indeed — and  yet  his  name  need  not  be  men- 
tioned between  us,  because,  perhaps,  he  is  one  of  those  humble  Chris- 
tians who  love  not  their  good  deeds  to  be  made  public  ;  or,  perhaps, 
because  all  the  world  need  not  know  that  he  goeth  to  sup  with  Jenny 
Lee.  Well,  last  night,  after  supper,  there  was  singing  and  laughing. 
Among  the  others,  I  performed  for  the  amusement  of  the  company 
some  of  those  small  arts  of  mine  by  which  I  have  often,  of  old, 
beguiled  the  evening  for  his  honour  and  his  friends.' 

'I  know  them  well,  Mr.  Hilyard.' 

*  Yes — I  sang  and  played  my  best.  But  who  can  call  anything 
acting  when  Jenny  Lee  is  present  ?  Yet  they  laughed  and  were 
amused  ;  my  lord  was  so  good  as  to  distinguish  me  particularly,  and 
presently  I  heard  him  whisper  Jenny,  and  ask  what  was  my  name 
and  condition.  "  Indeed,  my  lord,"  said  she,  in  her  pretty,  roguish 
way,  "  I  shall  not  tell  your  lordship  unless  you  promise  to  grant  me 
the  next  favour  I  ask."  "  The  least  favour  from  your  hands,  fair 
Jenny,"  he  replied,  "  even  to  answer  so  simple  a  question,  is  richly 
repaid  by  the  greatest  from  mine."  But  I  think  he  did  not  guess 
what  she  was  about  to  ask  him.  "My  lord,"  she  said,  whispering, 
"  he  is  a  most  harmless,  affectionate  creature  ;  he  hath  come  up  to 
London  from  the  north  ;  it  is  dangerous  for  him  to  venture  abroad 
for  the  present,  because  he  was  with  the  rebels.  Nay  ;  but  he  went 
only  because  his  patron  went,  as  in  duty  bound,  and  for  no  Popish 
reasons.  No  one  is  in  search  of  him  ;  no  one  wants  to  arrest  him  ; 
but  if  he  be  by  any  accident  discovered  and  clapped  in  ward,  then 
will  his  neck  be  twisted  and  his  song  spoiled.  Wherefore,  my  lord, 
make  this  poor  man  safe,  and  give  him  assurance  of  safety,  and  you 

shall  have  "    "What,  fair  Jenny?"    "My  gratitude,  my  lord. 

Can  you  ask  for  more  ?  He  is  my  earliest  friend.  He  first  taught 
me  how  to  act ;  he  who  helps  Mr.  Hilyard,  helps  me." 


2$2 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


^  Well,  he  hesitated  ;  told  her  she  was  a  witch,  and  a  baggage, 
and  a  saucy  rogue,  and  kissed  her  hands.  Then  he  lugged  out  hig 
tablets,  wrote  down  my  name,  and  beckoned  to  me.  "  Sir,"  he  said, 
you  owe  to  this  lady  your  safety.  I  will  take  care  that  you  are 
not  molested  ;  go  where  you  please — go  even  into  Newgate  if  you 
will."  You  may  be  sure  I  hastened  to  thank  him  with  my  best  leg, 
and  to  assure  his  lordship  that  I  was  his  most  humble  servant  to 
command,  and  that  for  the  future,  after  praying  for  his  lordship,  I 
should  cry,  "  God  save  King  George  !"  ' 

The  first  day  he  came  away  from  the  prison,  Mr.  Hilyard  was 
pensive  and  melancholy. 

'  Truly,'  he  said,  '  it  grieves  me  to  the  soul  to  see  these  poor 
fellows,  once  so  merry  and  gallant,  now  mewed  up  together  in  that 
gloomy  place,  where,  ruffle  and  hector  and  swear  as  they  may,  every 
man  feels  as  if  the  gallows  was  already  in  sight.  The  aspect  of 
Mr.  Edward  Swinburne  pleases  me  not,  for  he  hangs  his  head  and 
will  hardly  speak,  but  sitteth  as  much  alone  as  may  be.  The  minds 
of  generous  men  are  easily  moved  to  shame  for  public  disgrace  ;  yet 
the  part  which  this  young  gentleman  took  in  the  Rebellion  was  not 
so  conspicuous  that  his  shame  should  enter  into  his  soul.  He  is  not, 
like  Cleopatra,  reserved  for  the  chief  place  in  the  triumph  ;  nor  like 
Antony,  who  aimed  at  the  empire  of  the  inhabitable  world  and  lost 
it.  Yet  he  is  as  one  fallen  into  melancholy  with  the  shame  of  the 
defeat.  Some,  like  Mr.  Stokoe,  bite  their  nails  and  walk  gloomily 
to  and  fro  ;  some,  like  poor  Mr.  Paul,  caught  by  so  cursed  a  mis- 
chance, weep  and  wring  their  hands  ;  some  swear  that  a  man  can 
die  but  once,  and  what  odds  then  ?  Some  drink  to  forget  their 
anxiety  ;  one  or  two  alone,  like  Mr.  Charles  Radcliffe  and  Colonel 
Oxbrough,  preserve  an  intrepid  spirit,  and  show  a  resolute  coun- 
tenance to  whatever  happens. 

*  Most  of  all,'  he  went  on,  '  I  pity  Mr.  Patten  ;  who,  now  that  he 
finds  himself  fairly  in  for  his  trial,  and  no  one  likely  to  hale  him 
out  of  prison,  is  falling  into  a  dejection  which  may  work  harm  to 
his  honour,  with  whom  he  sits  too  much.' 

In  fact,  although  Mr.  Patten  continually  plied  poor  Tom  with 
flatteries  (more  from  habit  than  from  any  hope  of  further  patronage), 
and  assured  him  (contrary  to  the  fact)  that  he  was  covered  with 
military  glory  for  his  conduct  in  the  campaign,  his  conversation 
was  so  full  of  gibbets,  drawing,  and  quartering,  with  so  many  re- 
flections on  the  pain  and  misery  of  quitting  the  world  while  in  the 
very  prime  and  heyday  of  manhood  and  happiness,  that  Tom  grew 
daily  more  melancholy  and  less  disposed  for  resignation.  Every 
day,  also,  Mr.  Patten  found  occasion  to  compare  the  happy  lot  of 
Mr.  Hilyard  and  his  freedom  with  their  captivity. 

*  Some,'  he  said,  '  are  born  to  this  kind  of  fortune,  that  they  may 
get  over  the  wall  with  impunity,  while  others  are  hanged  for  no 
more  than  peeping  over  it.  Others,  again,  keep  in  the  background 
secret  friends  for  their  own  use,  and  so  procure  enlargement — 1 
would  I  knew  of  such  !    Some  even  go  so  far,  I  have  heard,  as  to 


MR.  HILYARUS  FREEDOM. 


263 


procure  their  own  pardon  at  the  price  of  giving  evidence  against 
their  friends — a  most  monstrous  treachery,  indeed !  Yet,  Mr. 
Hilyard,  I  think  it  right  to  let  you  know  that  this  is  whispered 
against  you  in  the  Press  Yard,  and  some  there  are  who  speak  of 
braining  the  man  who  would  thus  ' 

'  Zounds,  sir  !'  cried  Mr.  Hilyard  ;  'dare  you — or  any — insinuate 
that  I  go  at  large  in  order  that  they  may  suffer  ?' 

'  Not  I,  sir — not  I,  certainly.  I  tell  them  that  the  General  could 
not  repose  his  confidence  in  you  so  fully  unless  he  had  first  proved 
your  loyalty.    Oh  !  not  I,  indeed,  sir — believe  me  !' 

But  the  mere  suspicion  of  the  thing  made  Mr.  Hilyard  so  angry 
that  he  had  no  peace  until  he  had  conferred  with  Charles  Eadcliffe, 
and  been  assured  by  him  that  not  one  of  the  gentlemen,  his  old 
friends,  believed  him  capable  of  so  base  an  action. 

I  suppose  it  was  about  this  time  that  Mr.  Patten  began  to  groan 
with  repentance,  and  to  accuse  himself  of  being  a  great  sinner. 

*  I  fear,  sir,'  he  told  Tom,  '  that  my  sin,  which  now  weighs  heavily 
upon  my  soul,  may  lead  me  to  show  my  remorse  and  repentance  in 
a  way  which  some  of  my  friends  may  not  approve.  Yet  I  am  con- 
vinced that  your  honour,  knowing  the  tenderness  of  my  conscience, 
will  approve  what  I  shall  do.' 

'  Why,  Mr.  Patten,'  Mr.  Hilyard  said,  answering  for  Tom,  who 
only  stared,  so  strange  was  it  to  hear  Mr.  Patten  talk  in  this  way, 
'  as  for  your  sins,  it  is  not  for  anyone  to  contradict  you,  since  you 
assert  the  fact,  and  doubtless  you  are,  like  the  rest  of  us,  a  miserable 
sinner ;  nor  are  we  your  father  confessors  to  ask  for  further  par- 
ticulars ;  while  as  for  what  you  are  going  to  do,  repentance  for  sin 
can  never  be  disapproved  by  his  honour,  who  is  a  Christian  man.' 

'Repentance  with  atonement,  brother  sinner,'  said  Mr.  Patteu, 
groaning.  '  Repentance  must  ever  be  followed  by  atonement.  Oh 
that  you  could  feel  like  me !' 

However,  they  presently  had  a  bowl  of  punch,  and  made  merry. 
Mr.  Patten,  in  spite  of  his  sins,  drinking  about  with  the  rest. 

The  next  day  he  came  not  to  Tom's  chamber,  and  they  knew  not 
what  kept  him.  But  on  the  morrow  the  strange  news  was  carried 
abroad  that  Mr.  Patten  had  received  enlargement,  and  was  now  in 
custody  of  a  messenger.  But  still  they  knew  not,  and  suspected 
not,  why. 

Two  or  three  days  after  this  (the  impeachment  of  the  lords  taking 
place  in  the  meantime)  Mr.  Hilyard  came  to  me  in  such  a  wrath 
and  passion  of  rage  as  I  had  never  witnessed  in  him  before. 

'  Oh !'  he  cried,  flinging  his  arms  about,  and  jumping  round  the 
room  ;  '  oh !  was  there  ever  since  history  began  so  great,  so  un- 
exampled a  villain  ?  Did  the  world  ever  know  so  deep  a  hypocrite  ? 
Is  there  anywhere  a  record  of  so  canting,  sneaking  a  creature  ?' 

'  What  is  it  ?'  I  asked.    '  Who  is  the  viUain  ?' 

For  a  while  I  could  not  get  him  to  tell  me  anything,  so  angry  he 
was,  and  so  much  occupied  in  searching  for  hard  words  to  throw  at 
this  new  enemy. 

*  What  has  he  done  ?'  he  said  at  last.    *  He  has  turned  King's 


264 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


evidence.  To  save  his  own  fat  neck,  which  might  have  been 
tightened,  and  no  one  a  penny  the  worse,  he  has  turned  King's 
evidence.  For  his  own  worthless  carcase  he  will  put  all  these  brave 
fellows'  heads  into  the  noose  ' 

*  But  who  is  it — who  ?' 

*Who  should  it  be  but  Creeping  Bob — the  Reverend  Robert 
Patten,  Artium  Magister !  He  it  is  ;  and  Quartermaster  Calderwood 
with  him.  Mr.  Stokoe  also  pretended  that  he  was  ready  to  give 
evidence  too,  and  got  enlargement  under  custody  ;  but  it  was  a  flam, 
and  he  hath  escaped.  Now,  indeed,  there  is  consternation  in  the 
prison,  and  every  man  among  them  feels  already  a  catching  of  the 
breath,  as  if  he  were  troubled  with  a  tightness  of  the  neck.  This 
was  the  meaning  of  the  sin  which  lay  upon  the  hypocrite's  soul,  and 
demanded  repentance  and  atonement.  I  make  no  doubt  but  he  will 
hasten  to  inform  against  me.  Ah !  double  villain !  But  I  dread 
him  not.  And  to  say  that  he  hoped  to  preserve  the  good  opinion 
of  his  honour,  against  whom  he  will  give  evidence !  Would  that 
he  would  venture,  but  for  five  minutes  only,  his  ugly  face  in  the 
Press  Yard  !  No  ox  ever  w^as  carried  from  the  shambles  more  done 
to  death  than  he  would  be.  As  for  his  honour,  I  have  never  known 
him  more  cast  down  and  sunk  in  his  spirits  since  first  he  was 
locked  up.' 

Thus,  then,  was  explained  the  warning  of  Lady  Cowper,  though 
I  have  never  known  how  long  the  preliminaries  had  been  entered 
upon  by  this  reverend  hypocrite. 

*  Why,  while  he  talked  with  us  and  drank  his  honour's  punch,' 
Mr.  Hilyard  went  on,  '  he  was  already  determined  to  betray  us,  and 
revolving  in  his  mind  how  best  to  do  it.  Repentance  !  Remorse  ! 
Atonement !  These  are  sacred  words  ;  but  I  shall  never  again  be 
able  to  use  them,  for  fear  of  awakening  the  spirit  of  revenge  against 
Mr.  Patten  ;  and  so  while  lamenting  one  sin  (and  that,  perhaps, 
a  venial  one)  I  may  be  committing  another,  and  that  a  deadly  sin. 
Never  before  did  I  so  long,  yea,  so  ardently  desire  to  compass  the 
death  of  any  man,  though,  I  own  with  surprise,  my  soul  took  fierce 
delight  in  letting  fly  among  General  Willes's  Dragoons.  But  that 
was  in  battle,  where  one  may  lawfully  kill  and  slay  ;  while  this 
would  be  stark  murder.  And  who  so  eager  for  the  rising  ?  Who 
so  active  to  enlist  recruits  ?  Who  so  keen  to  preach  the  plain  duty 
of  loyal  men,  and  the  manifold  justice  of  Divine  Right  ?  Who  so 
clear  to  see  the  finger  of  the  Lord  pointing  out  the  way  ?  Who  so 
strong  for  the  return  of  the  Prince  ?  If  there  was  a  man  among  us 
all  who  should  take  the  consequences,  it  is — Creeping  Bob  ;  if  any- 
one who  should  go  to  his  death  with  resignation,  it  is — Creeping 
Bob.    Oh,  villain  !  villain  !' 

This  was  after  the  impeachment  of  the  lords,  in  which  my  brother 
was  named  as  a  confederate,  and  it  made  us  very  desirous  to  push 
on  our  plans,  seeing  that  now  there  was  no  hope  of  insufficient 
evidence,  and  every  man  was  doomed,  unless  the  King  should 
pardon  him.  I  heard  from  Lady  Cowper  that  the  trial  of  the  con- 
federates would  be  taken  immediately  after  the  case  of  the  lords 


MR.  HILYARUS  FREEDOM. 


265 


was  disposed  of,  which  would  be,  she  thought,  in  a  few  weeks.  Her 
husband  was  Lord  High  Steward  of  the  Commission.  Mr.  Hilyard's 
plan  was  this  :  he  would  bribe  Mr.  Pitts,  the  Governor,  with  a  large 
sum  for  allowing  a  door  to  remain  open.  Then  he  would  have  to 
bribe  certain  warders  and  turnkeys  to  keep  out  of  the  way ;  next,  to 
choose  a  favourable  time  ;  and,  lastly,  to  devise  a  means  of  crossing 
the  water.  He  had  already,  it  seems,  sounded  Mr.  Pitts  cautiously 
on  the  subject,  and,  judging  from  the  virtuous  abhorrence  which 
the  Governor  expressed  as  regards  those  who  betray  their  trust  for 
money,  and  the  indignation  with  which  he  put  the  thing  from  him, 
yet  returned  to  its  discussion,  Mr.  Hilyard  thought  there  would  be 
no  difficulty  with  him  other  than  the  arrangement  of  the  price.  To 
be  sure,  the  Governor  was  reaping  a  golden  harvest  at  this  time, 
and  was  not  disposed  to  be  moderate  in  his  demands.  I  thought  my 
own  plan  better,  and  likely  to  be  cheaper  and  as  effective  ;  therefore 
I  resolved  on  first  trying  my  friendly  warder. 

With  this  view  I  enjoined  Mr.  Hilyard  not  to  pursue  the  business 
farther,  for  the  moment,  with  Mr.  Pitts,  but  to  apply  himself  to 
finding  some  safe  and  trustworthy  means  of  getting  a  man  to  France. 
I  never  kneAV,  nor  did  I  even  ask,  by  what  secret  means  Mr.  Hilyard 
hai  information,  as  well  in  London  as  in  the  country  ;  but  presently 
he  told  me  that  he  knew  of  such  a  captain  as  we  wanted.  (He  was 
not  our  Wapping  friend.)  He  was  one  who  had  run  many  across, 
and  though  he  asked  a  large  sum  for  his  work,  he  was  reported 
honest  and  trustworthy.  Mr.  Hilyard  bargained  with  him  that  he 
should  be  in  readiness  against  the  time  we  should  want  him.  But 
this,  owing  to  various  hindrances,  and  especially  the  jealous  and 
hostile  temper  of  London,  was  deferred  until  the  trial  of  the  lords 
should  be  finished,  the  dreadful  thirst  for  blood  somewhat  appeased, 
and  the  pulpits  and  journals  be  preaching  counsels  of  moderation. 
In  other  words,  we  might  have  got  Tom  away  within  a  month  of 
his  arrival  at  Newgate ;  but,  when  every  strange  rider  along  the 
road  was  being  arrested  on  suspicion,  and  every  harmless  passenger 
in  the  street  liable  to  be  haled  before  the  nearest  justice,  we  judged 
it  better  to  wait. 

I  knew  now  that  during  this  time  the  friends  of  all  the  prisoners 
were  not  only  moving  in  every  direction  for  interest  in  high  places 
with  which  to  get  a  pardon,  but  were  also  already  devising  means 
and  ways,  and  secretly  trying  gaolers,  guards,  and  wardens,  to  see  if 
they  were  open  to  corruption,  and  preparing  money  for  the  time 
when  an  escape  might  be  conveniently  attempted.  For  the  present 
that  time  was  not  yet  come.  In  the  end,  beside  Lord  Nithsdale, 
whose  wife  got  him  out,  and  Lord  Wintoun,  who  sawed  his  way  out, 
and  Tom,  whom  I  got  out,  by  the  help  of  Heaven,  there  were  a 
great  many  who  escaped,  as  well  as  those  who  were  reprieved  or 
pardoned,  and  those  who  were  tried  and  acquitted.  Thus  Charles 
Radcliffe  escaped  in  a  very  bold  and  daring  manner ;  Captain 
Charles  Wogan,  one  of  the  Irish  messengers,  but  a  brave  feUow, 
made  a  safe  escape  ;  the  Brigadier  Macintosh,  Mr.  Hunter  of 
Callalee,  and  Mr.  Budden,  the  London  upholsterer,  escaped,  with  a 


266 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


good  many  others.  'Twas  said  that  the  Government  rejoiced  at 
hearing  of  their  breaking  gaol,  because  it  saved  them  from  the 
odium  of  many  executions,  and  the  seeming  cruelty  of  many 
pardons.  In  the  end,  although  many  were  executed  in  Lancashire, 
there  were  only  four  who  suffered  in  London,  besides  the  two 
unhappy  lords — namely,  the  unfortunate  Mr.  John  Hall,  of  Otter- 
bourne,  the  Reverend  William  Paul,  Colonel  Oxbrough,  and  Captain 
Gascoigne.  As  regards  the  two  last,  I  have  no  pity  for  them,  be- 
cause it  was  on  their  statements  that  our  people  took  up  arms,  and 
firmly  believing  that  if  they  led,  thousands  would  follow.  If  any 
suffered,  they  should  suffer ;  if  the  blood  of  the  poor  fellows  who 
lost  their  lives  at  Preston  and  Sheriffmuir  was  on  the  head  of  any, 
it  was  on  theirs.  Yet  why  should  Mr.  Hall  (except  that  he  was 
ever  unlucky  after  the  murder  of  my  uncle  Ferdinando)  be  hanged, 
and  Mr.  Clavering,  of  Callalee,  go  free  ?  Why  should  poor  Mr. 
Paul,  who  took  no  part  in  the  fighting,  be  executed,  and  others  re- 
ceive a  pardon  ?  I  blame  not  the  King  for  pardoning  any,  but  I 
blame  them  because  they  pardoned  some,  and  executed  others  who 
were  no  more  guilty, 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

jenny's  scheme. 
This  project  of  Jenny's  contrivance  was  so  simple,  and  seemed  so 
easy,  that  it  completely  took  possession  of  my  mind,  and  for  a  time 
I  could  think  scarce  of  anything  else.  For  to  liberate  my  lord 
would  be  so  great  and  wonderful  a  thing.  Why,  these  people  who 
act  can  assume,  and  make  others  assume,  any  appearance  they 
please  ;  had  I  not  seen  Mr.  Hilyard  under  a  dozen  disguises  ?  It 
would  be  nothing  for  Jenny  to  make  up  first  Frank,  and  then  the 
Earl,  into  another  person  altogether. 

*Nay,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  *but  you  forget  that  when  I  have  de- 
ceived you,  it  is  first  through  your  imagination  the  cheat  is  wrought, 
so  that  I  made  you  think  of  a  physician  first,  before  I  assumed  the 
bearing  and  guise  of  one  ;  and  of  the  blacksmith,  John  Purdy,  be- 
fore I  became  that  man.  And  so  with  the  stage.  Before  Jenny 
steps  across  the  boards — majesty  in  her  face,  sovereignty  in  her 
eyes,  authority  in  her  carriage — you  have  been  prepared  to  expect  a 
Queen  ;  and,  lo  !  she  stands  before  you.  But  without  this  prepara- 
tion and  talk  disguise  is  not  so  easy,  and  J enny's  scheme  will  want, 
methinks,  the  help  of  twilight.  Then,  indeed,  it  might  be  safely 
tried,  Mr.  Frank's  resemblance  to  his  brother  being  so  great  that  he 
might,  by  candle-light  even,  pass  very  well  for  the  Earl.  But  he 
gets  daily  worse  instead  of  better.' 

We  began  then  to  consider  the  strange  nature  of  Jenny's  power 
over  him,  so  that  what  she  should  command,  that  he  would  straight- 
way do ;  and,  whereas  at  Dilston  it  was  in  a  trance  that  he  did 
these  things,  now  it  was  with  all  his  wits  awake,  and  of  his  own 
free  will — a  mere  slave  to  the  will  of  a  woman. 

'In  this  respect,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  *he  only  follows  many  illus* 
trious  examples  of  antiquity — Solomon  among  others.' 


JENNY'S  SCHEME. 


267 


'  Did  she  give  him  a  love- potion  ?  or  did  she  by  some  other  magic 
and  witch-like  art  steal  his  affections  ?' 

'  Nay,  Miss  Dorothy,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  you  understand  not  the 
strength  of  love  nor  the  power  of  J enny's  beauty.'  She  had  bright 
black  eyes,  red  lips,  and  a  rosy  cheek,  with  black  curls  and  a  tall, 
good  figure ;  and,  in  a  word,  the  girl  was  well  enough,  and  might 
have  pleased  some  honest  fellow  of  her  own  rank  and  birth.  '  She 
is,'  continued  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  a  most  beautiful  and  bewitching  crea- 
ture ;  witty  and  roguish.  You  must  not  suppose  because  a  gentle- 
woman seldom  or  never  loves  a  man  below  her  own  degree  (yet 
Yenus,  the  great  goddess,  loved  Adonis,  the  shepherd  boy),  titiat 
therefore  a  gentleman  cannot  love  a  woman  of  inferior  birth.  Why, 
Boaz,  a  great  prince,  as  one  may  suppose,  loved  Ruth,  who  seemed 
to  him  a  simple  leasing-maid,  and  King  Cophetua  loved  a  beggar- 
maid.  There  are  other  examples  too  many  to  enumerate.  As  for 
Jenny's  witcheries,  I  believe  not  in  them  any  more  than  consists  in 
her  bright  eyes  and  smiles.' 

'  But,  oh  !  Mr.  Hilyard,'  I  exclaimed,  ^remember  what  she  did  at 
Dilston  and  what  I  saw,  although  she  deceived  me,  lying  without 
shame.' 

*  Truly,'  he  said,  '  I  forget  not.  It  is  strange  to  think  upon. 
There  was  once,  as  is  related,  a  learned  scholar  of  Oxford  who  fell 
into  a  kind  of  melancholy,  and  conceived  a  disgust  at  the  company 
of  his  fellows.  Wherefore  he  presently  left  his  college  and  his 
companions,  and,  going  away  into  the  fields,  fell  in  with  a  band  of 
gipsies,  and  continued  with  them  all  his  life,  asking  for  nothing 
more  than  they  could  give  him — namely,  to  dwell  in  the  open  air, 
to  sleep  in  tents,  to  endure  the  extremes  of  weather,  to  live  hard, 
and  to  have  no  discourse  on  books,  religion,  philosophy,  or  any  of 
the  subjects  with  which  he  had  formerly  been  conversant.  But  to 
one  seeking  him  in  this  strange  retirement,  he  said  that  the  gipsy 
race  was  possessed  of  many  and  marvellous  secrets,  some  of  which 
had  been  imparted  to  himself,  and  that,  without  any  agreement  or 
covenant  with  the  devil,  they  could  so  cheat  the  eyes  and  brains  of 
men  and  women  as  to  make  them  do  what  they  wished,  see  things 
invisible,  hear  voices  afar  off,  and  believe  what  they  were  told  to 
believe.  So  Frank  Bad  cliff  e,  being  asleep,  seemed  awake,  and 
knew  not  afterwards  what  he  had  said  or  done.    Yet  no  devilry.' 

Who  can  understand  these  things  ? 

'Why,'  I  asked,  'seeing  that  you  are  so  great  a  scholar,  cannot 
you  cure  Frank  of  this  madness  ?' 
He  shook  his  head. 

'  Because  when  all  the  medicines  for  the  cure  of  love  have  been 
applied,  there  still  remains  the  lover.  Why,  to  love  as  Frank  is  in 
love  is  to  be  strong,  to  be  a  man,  on  whom  the  remediiim  amoris  is 
but  a  sham.  Any  weak  man  may  think  himself  in  love  with  a  girl 
of  his  own  degree  ;  but  this  kind  of  love,  as  when  one  hath  loved  a 
mermaid,  or  sea-dragon,  and  another  a  fairy,  and  another  a  black 
woman,  is  not  to  be  cured,  and  means  great  strength  of  will  and 
passion  unconquerable.    From  ordinary  passions  a  strong  man  like 


268 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


myself  keeps  himself  free  ;  especially  when,  Miss  Dorothy,'  he 
looked  at  me  with  a  soft  suffusion  of  his  eyes,  '  when  a  man  is  pre- 
vented from  loving  other  women,  because  he  is  always  in  presence 
of  one  so  godlike,  that  the  rapt  senses  cannot  endure  to  think  upon 
a  creature  of  lower  nature/ 

*  But,'  I  said,  leaving  the  subject  of  love's  madness,  *  Jenny's  pro- 
ject is  so  easy,  that  it  seems  ridiculous  to  hope  that  it  hath  not  been 
guarded  against.' 

*  The  greatest  things,'  he  said,  *  are  sometimes  effected  in  the 
easiest  manner.  The  mathematician  of  Syracuse  fired  a  fleet  with 
burning-glasses.  But  he  did  not  invent  the  burning-glass.  And  I 
remember  the  egg  of  Columbus.' 

I  went  to  see  Frank.  He  had  a  lodging  near  Jenny  in  Red  Lion 
Street  just  now  ;  the  weather  being  so  hard,  he  stirred  not  abroad 
at  all,  but  sat  beside  the  fire  all  day,  suffering  grievously  from  his 
cough. 

*  Cousin  Dorothy,'  he  said,  pleased  indeed  to  see  me  (but  his 
cheeks  were  thin  and  hollow  and  his  shoulders  rounded,  so  that  it 
was  sad  to  look  upon  him),  '  I  heard  that  you  were  in  town  ;  I  wouM 
to  Heaven  it  were  on  a  more  pleasant  errand  !  I  cannot  get  abroad 
to  see  anyone,  not  even  my  brothers  in  the  Tower  and  in  Newgate, 
poor  lads  !  nor  my  sister-in-law,  the  Countess,  who  hath  too  much 
to  think  of,  so  that  she  cannot  be  expected  to  come  here.  Off  hood 
and  cloak,  cousin,  and  draw  a  chair  near  the  fire,  and  talk  to  me, 
because  I  may  not  talk  much.' 

Another  fit  of  coughing  seized  him  and  shook  him  to  and  fro,  so 
that  at  the  end  he  lay  back  among  his  pillows  exhausted. 

I  told  him  what  news  I  had  to  tell,  and  gave  him  such  comfort 
as  I  had  to  give,  which  was  not  much  ;  yet  I  could  tell  him  that  I 
had  seen  my  lord,  and  how  he  looked,  and  how  he  had  hopes  from 
his  noble  friends  and  cousins. 

*  As  for  me,'  he  said,  *  what  use  am  I  in  the  world  to  anybody  ? 
And  at  such  a  juncture  to  be  thus  laid  by  the  heels  and  unable  to 
stir !  Ah,  Dorothy !  it  is  yeary  work  lying  here,  whither  no  one 
comes,  save  Mr.  Hilyard,  who  is  very  good,  and  keeps  up  my  heart ; 
and  every  day,  never  failing,  the  best,  the  kindest,  the  most  beauti- 
ful of  her  sex  ' 

*  You  mean  Jenny  Lee,'  I  said. 

*  Whom  should  I  mean  but  that  incomparable  creature  ?  Dorothy, 
I  should  be  the  happiest  of  men,  because  the  divine  Jenny  hath 
promised  to  marry  me  as  soon  as  I  am  recovered  of  this  plaguy 
cough.  I  know  not  yet  where  we  shall  live ;  she  will  leave  the 
stage,  which  is  the  scene  of  her  triumphs,  but  yet  no  fit  place  for  a 
gentleman's  wife  ;  we  will  go  somewhere  into  the  country,  it  matters 
not  where,  so  that  we  have  a  garden,  and  are  retired  from  mankind, 
and  especially  from  those  who  ride  up  and  down  exhorting  us  to  be 
ready  for  the  Prince.  As  for  religion,  I  am  what  I  am ;  but  my 
children  shall  be  of  the  religion  of  their  country,  with  which  Jenny, 
who  hath  been  religiously  brought  up,  is  well  content.' 

As  for  Jenny's  religion,  I  doubt  much  if  she  had  kept  any  ;  but. 


JENNY'S  SCHEME. 


269 


to  be  sure,  her  mother  had  her  taught  the  Catechism  and  Ten  Com- 
mandments with  the  Lord's  Prayer. 

He  was  going  to  add  more,  but  he  stopped  as  if  arrested  in  the 
current  of  his  thoughts,  and  held  up  his  finger,  crying  ; 

*  She  is  coming.    Hush  !    I  hear  her  footstep.' 

I  listened,  but  could  hear  nothing  except  the  cries  of  those  who 
bawled  their  wares  in  the  street  below,  and  from  Holborn  the  roll 
of  carts  and  waggons.  How  could  he  hear  her  step,  when  it  was 
five  minutes,  at  least,  before  she  came  (and  then  in  her  glass-coach) 
and  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  house  ? 

It  was  about  three  o'clock  of  the  afternoon,  and  she  was  finely 
dressed,  because  she  would  presently  go  on  her  way  to  the  theatre, 
and  beneath  her  furred  cloak  she  wore  hoops  and  a  crimson  satin 
petticoat,  with  a  white  silk  frock  and  long  train,  very  rich  and 
magnificent,  and  a  great  quantity  of  lace,  her  head  very  finely 
dressed,  and  patches  artfully  bestowed.  She  saluted  me  with  great 
politeness,  and  Frank  (whom  she  kissed)  with  peculiar  tenderness, 
asking  what  kind  of  night  he  had  passed,  and  if  he  was  not  better. 

'  Much  better,'  said  the  poor  lad,  '  and  very  much  stronger  ;'  but 
another  cough  began.  Thereupon  Jenny  took  both  his  hands,  made 
him  look  her  in  the  face,  then  laid  down  his  hands,  and  passed  hers 
before  his  eyes,  and  then — oh,  strange ! — he  lay  back  upon  his  pillows 
asleep,  breathiDg  lightly  like  a  child. 

*  Your  ladyship  perceives,'  she  said,  *  that  there  is  no  physician 
like  Jeuuy,  and  no  medicine  like  the  practice  of  the  gipsies.' 

'  Oh,  Jenny,'  I  whispered,  looking  curiously  at  the  sleeping  man, 
*  it  is  wickedness  ;  it  cannot  be  anything  short  of  sorcery.  Women 
have  been  burned  for  less.' 

'  Oh  yes,  I  know.  Poor  creatures  who  could  not  even  read  the 
lines  of  the  hand.  They  were  burned  for  much  less.  Wherefore, 
we  of  the  Romany  tribe  hide  these  gifts,  and  practise  them  only 
among  ourselves  ;  but  not  all  have  the  power.  And  by  this  means 
we  allay  the  pains  of  toothache  and  rheumatism  to  which  we  are 
liable  ;  and  we  find  out  what  goes  on  far  away  ;  and  yet  I  know  not 
of  any  devil  in  it  at  all.  See  now.  Miss  Dorothy  ' — she  caught  my 
hand — '  he  is  not  asleep  ;  he  is  quiet,  with  eyes  closed,  because  I 
have  ordered  it.  He  will  now  answer  any  question  you  ask  him. 
Shall  he  tell  us  what  my  lord  is  doing  in  the  Tower  ?' 

'  No — yes  !  Jenny,  it  is  wicked.' 

'  Tell  me,  Frank,  what  your  brother  is  doing  in  the  Tower  T 
Frank  replied,  without  opening  his  eyes : 

*  He  is  sitting  alone  by  the  fireside ;  a  book  is  before  him,  but  he 
reads  it  not ;  he  is  thinking  of  Dilston  and  his  children.  Now  a 
tear  falls  from  his  eye  ;  now  ' 

*  Jenny,  for  the  love  of  God,  stop  him!  I  dare  not — it  is  im- 
pious— to  pry  into  my  lord's  secret  and  sacred  thoughts.* 

She  looked  at  me  curiously. 

*  I  can  tell  you,'  she  said,  '  if  he  loves  you  still.' 

*  I  will  hear  no  more.  Oh,  J enny,  Jenny  !  these  are,  truly,  arta 
of  the  devil.' 


270 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


She  shook  her  head  and  laughed. 

^  Fear  not,  Miss  Dorothy  ;  I  will  ask  him  no  more  questions.  Let 
Frank  rest  in  peace  for  half-an-hour,  then  he  will  be  easier.  If  I 
could  spend  the  whole  day  and  night  here,  nursing  him,  he  should 
soon  recover.  For,  see  you,  it  is  the  strength  and  violence  of  his 
cough  that  pulls  him  to  pieces.  If  I  were  here  I  would  stop  each 
attack  at  the  very  beginning,  and  so  he  would  soon  get  strength.' 

Then  I  asked  her  about  her  project  for  the  Earl's  release.  She 
said  she  thought  of  it,  because  it  would  please  Frank,  when  he  got 
better,  to  attempt  it  ;  because  it  was  a  thing  easy  of  accomplish- 
ment ;  and  because  it  would  please  myself.  As  for  his  lordship,  she 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  said  that  when  her  own  people  went 
stealing  poultry,  poisoning  pigs,  lifting  linen  from  the  hedge,  and 
other  things  forbidden  by  the  law,  they  were  hanged,  flogged,  pil- 
loried, branded  in  the  cheek,  or  transported  to  the  Plantations, 
without  anyone  trying  to  save  them  or  crying  over  them.  The 
punishment,  she  said,  was  part  of  the  life.  Those  who  did  such 
things  tried  to  escape  detection  ;  but,  if  they  were  caught,  they 
knew  what  to  expect.  Wherefore,  in  the  same  way,  those  who  re- 
belled against  the  King  should  take  the  consequences  without  all 
this  crying  over  it  ;  but  she  hoped  his  honour  (meaning  my  brother 
Tom)  would  get  safely  out  of  Newgate  ;  and  since  Frank,  who  was 
her  sweetheart,  and  I,  who  was  her  old  mistress,  ardently  desired  it, 
she  hoped  that  Lord  Derwentwater  would  get  off  scot-free. 

Then  I  asked  her  when  she  would  open  the  business  to  Frank. 

*  Why,'  she  replied,  laying  her  hand  tenderly  on  his  thin  cheek, 
*  your  ladyship  must  first  please  to  understand  that  Frank  is  my 
own  man.  I  suffer  no  one  to  come  between  my  man  and  me.'  She 
turned  and  glared  upon  me  like  a  tigress.  '  It  is  I  who  must  first 
speak  with  him  about  it,  and  must  choose  the  time  and  everything.' 

*  Surely,  Jenny,  it  is  your  plan.    No  one  will  interfere  with  you.' 

*  They  wanted  to  tear  him  from  me,  and  drag  him  off  to  the  wars. 
Charles  Radcliffe  came  to  me  and  said  hard  words,  but  heard  harder. 
Was  I  going  to  suffer  him  to  go  on  such  a  fool's  errand  ?  Nay,  I 
warrant  you.  So  Master  Charles  went  off  without  him,  and  hath 
brought  his  pigs  to  a  pretty  market.  Trust  me.  Miss  Dorothy.' 
Her  voice  became  soft,  and  so  did  her  eyes.  '  Trust  me  ;  as  soon  as 
my  poor  boy  is  better,  he  shall  do  this  thing.  I  will  leave  him 
behind,  and  carry  the  Earl  away  with  me.  There  will  be  no  fear 
for  him  ;  though  at  first  they  will  talk  of  high  treason,  and  the 
rest.  At  present  a  great  deal  of  foolishness  is  talked,  and  we  at  the 
theatre  get  hissed  and  applauded  every  night  for  some  line  or  other 
which  has  a  meaning.    But  they  will  let  Frank  go  free. 

'  Meanwhile,  your  ladyship,'  she  said,  '  it  is  now  four  o'clock,  and 
soon  I  must  drive  away  to  the  theatre.  Will  you  leave  us  ?  I  must 
restore  him  first,  and  make  him  comfortable  for  the  night,  and  see 
to  his  broth  and  medicine.  Will  you  kindly  come  again  to  see  him, 
and  pardon  the  daily  presence  of  his  sweetheart — your  old  servant  ?' 

I  wished  her  good-night  and  came  away,  but  she  shamed  me  with 
her  courtly  courtesy  and  the  sweeo  of  her  hoops  and  train. 


THE  LORDS'  TRIAL. 


271 


*  On  the  stage,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  ^  all  is  exaggerated,  from  the 
setting  of  a  chair  to  the  dropping  of  a  curtsey.  Therefore,  poor 
Jenny,  who  hath  acquired  her  manners  on  the  boards,  saluted  you 
as  if  you  were  the  Queen  and  she  the  unfortunate  heroine.' 

*  And  what  of  poor  Frank,  Mr.  Hilyard  ?' 

*  Truly,'  he  replied,  and  my  heart  sank,  thinking  of  my  lord  and 
of  Jenny's  project,  '  I  fear  his  days  will  be  few  and  full  of  suffering, 
and  his  life  here  on  earth  like  that  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven  in  one 
respect — namely,  that  there  will  be  in  it  neither  marrying  nor 
giving  in  marriage.' 

CHAPTER  XXXYT. 

THE  lords'  trial. 

Meantime,  Justice  was  pursuing  her  way  in  the  slow  but  certain 
method  of  English  law,  which  must  be  far  more  terrible  to  the 
wrongdoer  than  the  swift  and  sudden  revenges  of  foreign  States. 
As  for  the  gentlemen  and  the  baser  sort,  though  in  the  north  many 
were  already  under  sentence  of  death,  those  in  England  were  as  yet 
left  in  prison,  waiting  their  turn  in  affected  carelessness,  in  sullen 
gloom,  in  remorse,  or  indifference,  according  to  their  mood.  Tom, 
for  his  part,  changed  in  his  temper  from  day  to  day  ;  yet,  since  the 
Judas-like  falling  off  of  the  villain  Patten,  he  began  to  droop,  and 
to  lose  even  the  cheerfulness  which  can  be  procured  from  a  bottle 
of  wine.  As  regards  the  lords  in  the  Tower,  their  case  was  brought 
before  the  House  of  Commons  jDy  Mr.  Lechmere,  and  their  im- 
peachment was  sent  to  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Lords.  On  the  9th 
of  January  they  were  all  brought  by  water  to  the  Upper  House, 
where  the  articles  of  impeachment  were  read  to  them.  Time  being 
granted  them  to  prepare  their  pleas,  they  were  carried  back  to  the 
Tower. 

It  was,  perhaps,  some  consolation  to  the  unfortunate  prisoners 
that  along  the  whole  of  the  way  in  returning  they  were  escorted  by 
a  J acobite  mob,  who  cheered  them  continually.  Yet,  methinks,  no 
cheering  of  a  mob  could  reconcile  me  to  the  loss  of  my  head,  coupled 
with  the  feeling  that  it  had  been  foolishly  thrown  away.  The  lords 
were  allowed  to  stop  on  their  return  at  the  Fountain  Tavern,  in  the 
Strand,  where  for  the  last  time  they  took  dinner  and  a  bottle  of 
wine  together.  You  would  have  thought,  said  one  who  saw  it,  that, 
outside,  all  the  Jacobites  in  England  were  gathered  together  ;  or, 
at  least,  that  all  London  was  Jacobites,  -  so  great  was  the  crowd. 
And  when  the  prisoners  came  forth,  guarded  by  twelve  warders, 
there  was  such  an  uproar  with  pushing  and  struggling  to  touch  the 
hands — yea,  and  even  the  skirts  of  their  coats— as  never  before  was 
seen.  Had  this  mob  been  as  valiant  for  fighting  as  they  were  for 
shouting,  there  would  have  been  no  need  for  the  shouting  at  all. 
But  it  is  easier  to  shout  than  to  fight.  Of  all  the  London  friends 
of  the  Prince,  there  was  but  one  who  ventured  his  skin  for  the 
cause.  This  was  good  Mr.  Budden,  an  upholsterer  by  trade.  He, 
at  the  first  news  of  the  rising,  hastened  north  to  join  the  English 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


force.  One — one  only,  out  of  all  that  multitude  !  Which  proves 
that  nothing  is  more  contemptible  than  the  opinion  of  the  mob, 
which  is  all  for  this  side  to-day,  and  that  to-morrow,  and  with  no 
reason  or  fixed  principle,  or  power  to  do  anything  for  either  side 
but  mischief,  with  burning  of  bonfires,  waylaying  of  honest  men, 
and  pillaging  of  houses.  Strange  it  is  to  think  that  there  have  been 
States  in  which  the  baser  sort  were  considered  as  much  as  their 
betters,  and  possessed  equal  rights  !  No  doubt  this  fact  proved  the 
ruin  of  those  States.  When  the  lords  had  passed  through  their 
crowds  of  friends,  and  emptied  their  snuff-boxes  among  them  a 
dozen  times  at  least,  they  got  back  to  their  coaches,  and  so  passed 
slowly  along  the  streets  to  their  prison. 

They  were  carried  on  the  17th  day  of  the  month  to  the  House  of 
Lords  to  make  their  answers.  As  for  that  of  Lord  Derwentwater, 
he  declared,  first  of  all,  that  he  was  wholly  unconcerned  with  any 
plot  or  conspiracy  whatever,  and  that  he  joined  in  the  rising  of  his 
friends  and  cousins  hastily  and  without  deliberate  design.  This  was 
not  believed  by  any,  as  Lady  Cowper  hath  told  me  ;  yet  was  it  most 
certainly  true,  as  I  will  always  maintain.  Plot  there  was,  and  a 
deep-laid,  wide-spread  plot  covering  the  whole  of  the  three  king- 
doms ;  yet  was  not  my  lord  in  it,  as  Tom  always  affirmed. 

*  Yet,'  says  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  the  plea  was  insufficient.  It  would 
have  answered  his  purpose  better  if  he  had  set  forth  carefully,  and 
insisted  upon  them,  the  points  which  made  so  strongly  in  his  favour, 
that  had  the  Lords  duly  considered  them  they  could  not  choose  but 
recommend  him  for  clemency.  Videlicet :  first,  that  he  was  by  birth 
a  close  relation  to  the  Prince,  of  the  same  faith,  and  by  education 
his  personal  friend  and  companion  ;  therefore,  it  was  natural  that 
he  should  desire  his  return.  Next,  that  he  was  brought  up  abroad, 
and  could  not  know  the  temper  of  the  English  people,  so  that  he 
fell  an  easy  prey  to  designing  persons,  and  readily  believed  the  state- 
ments of  those  who  reported  the  nation  as  longing  for  the  return 
of  the  Prince — yea,  and  that  so  vehemently  that  they  would  rush 
with  one  consent  to  arms  were  an  example  once  set — for  this,  and 
nothing  short  of  this,  was  represented  to  us  by  Captain  Gascoigne 
and  his  friends.  Next,'  continued  Mr.  Hilyard,  'would  I  have 
counselled  him  to  prove  this  plea  by  the  fact  that  he  drew  with  him, 
who  might  have  enlisted  a  thousand  men,  no  more  than  a  few  ser- 
vants, and  that,  when  further  resistance  would  have  led  to  blood- 
shed, he  consented  to  a  surrender.  And,  lastly,  he  should  have 
concluded  with  a  moving  appeal  for  clemency  in  the  name  of  youth, 
inexperience,  ignorance,  and  his  tender  family.  Had  I  written  this 
appeal  for  him,'  said  the  honest  man,  wiping  the  tears  which  flowed 
down  his  face,  '  I  would  have  engaged  upon  his  side  every  heart  of 
sensibility  in  the  country,  whereas  now  they  are  all  asking  each 
other  in  wonder  what  means  this  naked  plea  of  unpremeditation. 
Alas  !  why — why — did  no  one  ask  my  advice  from  the  beginning  T 

Mr.  Hilyard  was  certainly  one  of  those  men  who  believe  that 
without  their  own  interference  nothing  is  done  well.  London 
breeds  such  men  in  hundreds  ;  they  swarm,  I  am  told,  in  every 


THE  LORDS'  TRIAL. 


273 


coffee-house  ;  nay,  in  every  mug-house  they  are  found.  They  know 
the  mistakes  made  by  statesmen  and  by  commanders  ;  they  are  able 
to  show,  after  the  thing  is  over,  what  ought  to  have  been  done. 
But,  as  regards  himself,  I  am  certain  that  had  he  been  consulted, 
there  would  have  been,  first,  no  rising  at  all  ;  the  Earl  and  my 
brother  Tom  would  have  surrendered  to  the  warrants  ;  if  any 
campaign,  then  one  differently  conducted  ;  if  any  surrender,  then 
on  better  terms  ;  if  any  trial,  then  with  more  successful  issue. 
And  from  the  many  discourses  I  have  held  with  this  one  scholar,  I 
am  sure  that  were  our  statesmen  also  scholars  and  persons  versed 
in  ancient  history,  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  would  be  singularly 
preserved  from  external  wars,  civil  tumults,  and  internal  dissen- 
sions. 

A  few  days  later,  the  Commons  demanded  that  judgment  should 
be  pronounced  upon  the  rebel  lords.  It  must  be  observed  that 
there  was  no  trial  at  all ;  they  were  impeached,  examined,  suffered 
to  plead,  and  sentenced.  After  three  weeks  the  Court  of  High  Com- 
mission ordered  that  the  prisoners  should  be  brought  before  them. 
Lord  Cowper  was  made  Lord  High  Steward — that  is,  President  of 
the  Court. 

*  Alas  !  Dorothy,'  said  her  ladyship.  '  To  think  that  they  could 
find  no  one  but  my  husband  to  sentence  these  unhappy  lords,  and 
two  of  them  my  own  cousins  !  And  the  servants  must  all  have 
new  liveries !' 

Though  the  gallant  show  was  prepared  only  to  sentence  seven 
brave  men  to  death,  all  London  (except  the  poor  women  who  wept 
for  them)  turned  out  to  see  it,  including  the  *  Jacks '  who  had  flung 
up  their  hats  for  the  prisoners  at  the  door  of  the  Fountain.  There 
was  a  great  coach-procession  to  Westminster  Hall,  with  gentlemen 
riding  on  horseback  between  the  carriages,  that  of  my  Lord  High 
Steward  with  six  horses  ;  and  all  the  way  so  great  a  cheering  for 
King  George  and  the  Protestant  Succession,  and  such  banging  and 
beating  of  warming-pans,  you  would  have  thought  the  town  gone 
mad.  (All  this  was  reported  to  me,  because  it  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  such  as  I  would  join  the  ladies  who  sat  in  the  windows  and 
waved  their  handkerchiefs  to  the  judges  on  this  awful  occasion.) 

There  was  no  noise  or  shouting,  my  informant  told  me,  in  West- 
minster Hall,  the  upper  part  of  which  was  set  with  seats  for  the 
Peers,  and  the  lower  part  left  free  to  spectators,  who  crowded  the 
great  Hall.  Among  the  Peers  sat  the  Prince  of  Wales  ,  but  he 
came  not  to  judge  so  much  as  to  look  on,  and  showed  in  his  face  a 
singular  concern  as  one  after  the  other  of  the  prisoners  was  brought 
forth. 

*  As  for  us  at  the  other  end,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  I  think  there  was 
not  one  who  exulted,  but  all  regarded  with  sorrow  and  compassion 
the  destruction  of  so  many  great  and  noble  houses.  When  all  were 
in  their  places,  the  Earl  of  Derwentwater  was  summoned  first. 
Truly  it  must  be  an  awful  moment  to  stand  before  the  assembled 
Peers  of  the  realm,  and  to  read  in  their  eyes  nothing  but  condemna- 
tion ;  or,  if  pity,  then  condemnation  as  well.    When  my  lord  ad- 

18 


274 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


vanced  to  the  bar,  all  rose  and  bowed  low,  as  if  to  show  that  pity  as 
well  as  the  respect  due  to  his  rank  ;  but  he,  for  his  part,  fell  upon  his 
knees,  where  he  remained  until  he  was  invited  by  the  Lord  High 
Steward  to  rise.  Behind  him  walked  the  gentleman  gaoler,  carrying 
an  axe  upon  his  shoulder,  the  edge  thereof  turned  from  the  prisoner. 

*  I  declare  and  shall  ever  maintain,'  Mr.  Hilyard  continued,  *  that 
his  lordship  hath  been  struck  with  judicial  blindness.  For,  when 
he  was  asked  what  reasons  he  could  allege,  if  any,  to  stay  his  punish- 
ment, and  another  opportunity  was  offered  to  move  the  hearts  of 
his  judges,  he  lost  it  or  threw  it  away.  Had  I  been  in  his  place,  I 
might  and  should  have  lacked  the  dignity  which  naturally  belongs 
to  one  of  his  high  rank.  Yet  I  think  I  should  have  found  the 
eloquence  and  the  wit  to  make  a  better  plea  for  my  life.  The 
Lords  would  like — nay,  I  saw  their  compassion  in  their  eyes — they 
would  like  nothing  better  than  to  save  him  ;  yet  he  will  not  help 
them.  Why,  oh  !  why  did  he  not  remind  the  House  that  he  had 
been  brought  up,  in  the  very  Court  of  St.  Germain's,  to  believe  that 
England  was  longing  for  the  Prince  to  return  ?  Why  did  he  not 
show  them  that  he  could  not  know  the  temper  of  the  country,  and 
must  needs  believe  what  he  was  told  ? 

*  Alas !  he  is  no  orator  ;  he  repeated  only  what  he  had  said  before, 
that  he  had  no  guilty  knowledge  of  any  plot — ^further  than  this, 
that  the  friends  of  the  Prince  would  gladly  bring  him  back  ;  that 
his  joining  the  insurgents  was  unpremeditated  ;  and  that,  in  order 
to  secure  submission,  he  became  a  hostage.  All  that  had  been  said 
before,  and  it  availed  nothing.  I  saw  the  faces  of  the  Lords  look 
at  each  other  and  grow  hard.  Why,  what  could  they  do  when  the 
prisoner  did  so  little  ?  So  they  put  him  back  and  called  the  other 
six,  of  whom  Lord  Wintoun  alone  obtained  respite  for  further  pre- 
paration of  his  defence.' 

Mr.  Hilyard  then  gave  me,  as  well  as  he  could  recollect  it,  Lord 
Cowper's  speech  on  pronouncing  the  judgment  of  the  Lords.  This 
speech  has  been  admired  as  a  masterpiece  of  judicial  oratory.  I 
know  not  how  that  may  be ;  it  was  pleasing,  no  doubt,  for  the 
Whigs  to  hear  of  the  wickedness  of  rebellion  ;  we  are  never  tired  of 
hearing  those  sins  denounced  which  we  never  practise  ;  but  for  the 
lords  awaiting  their  sentence,  methinks  the  discourse  might  have 
been  more  merciful  if  it  had  been  shorter. 

*  As  for  their  reception  of  the  sentence,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  *no 
hero  of  antiquity  could  hear  his  condemnation  pronounced  with 
greater  coolness  and  courage  than  was  shown  by  all.  Methought  as 
Lord  Derwentwater  followed  the  gaoler  from  the  bar — this  time  the 
edge  of  the  axe  turned  towards  him — so  marched  the  constant 
Regulus  to  his  doom  ;  with  such  a  face,  set  with  the  courage  which 
is  neither  insensibility  nor  braggadocio,  did  the  great  Socrates  go  to 
drink  his  poison.  My  heart  burned  within  me  to  kneel  and  kiss 
his  hand.' 

*  When,'  I  asked,  *  must  they  suffer  ?' 

*  I  know  not ;  they  talk  of  a  fortnight.  It  is  thought  that  by 
this  great  example  the  Government  will  show  their  strength.  If 


THE  LORDS'  TRIAL. 


275 


they  were  not  strong,  it  is  said,  they  would  not  dare  to  strike  so 
determined  a  blow.  As  for  the  rest,  the  plain  gentlemen,  it  is 
thought,  even  by  the  most  revengeful,  that  they  will  be  suffered  to 
escape  with  their  lives  at  least.  But,  Miss  Dorothy,  let  us  not 
trust  to  chance.  Remember  :  the  next  trial,  after  Lord  Wintoun's 
case  is  concluded,  must  be  his  honour's.  Suffer  me  go  talk  with 
Mr.  Pitts.' 

*  JSTot  yet,  Mr.  Hilyard.    Give  me  yet  a  week  or  two.' 

*  The  clemency  of  a  king,'  Mr.  Hilyard  went  on  presently,  \  is 
truly  a  great  and  generous  thing  when  it  is  properly  displayed. 
Towards  criminals  it  should  never  be  extended  ;  but  to  rebels,  as 
much  as  may  be.  For  it  is  better  to  forgive  and  to  release,  thereby 
showing  the  strength  which  has  no  fear,  than  to  strike  hard  and 
show  the  strength  which  can  revenge.  Methinks  in  this  case  the 
King  might  be  fitly  counselled  to  let  all  go  pardoned,  yet  punished 
by  their  defeat  and  ignominy,  and  by  the  loss  of  rank  and  estates, 
provided  they  promise  to  sit  down  in  peace  for  the  rest  of  their 
lives.  Yet,  if  I  were  to  say  these  things  in  a  coffee-house,  I  should 
be  kicked  out  of  one  and  cudgelled  in  another,  because  the  mob 
must  have  revenge.  The  Prince's  friends  themselves  would  rather 
see  these  men  hanged  with  dignity  than  dismissed  with  contempt.' 

Much  more  he  added  on  the  subject  of  that  kind  of  mercy  which 
brings  the  culprit  into  contempt,  arguing  that  great  punishments  do 
not  deter.others,  and  that  those  noblemen  who  have  seen  the  pomp 
attending  an  execution  on  Tower  Hill,  are  not  likely  to  be  deterred 
from  rebellion  by  its  recollection.  Nay,  rather  the  contrary  ;  for 
as  in  war  everyone  risks  his  life,  if  one  must  lose  it,  surely  it  is 
splendid  to  be  the  hero  of  so  great  a  show.  *  Thus  in  the  lower 
classes,'  he  said,  '  who  are  mostly  insensible  to  pain,  the  procession 
of  the  cart,  with  the  shouts  of  the  people,  all  eyes  turned  toward 
the  sufferer,  the  cries  to  the  driver  to  whip  up  his  horse,  and  to  him 
who  wields  the  cat  to  let  it  fall  lightly — these  things,  I  say,  destroy 
the  pain  and  substitute  a  kind  of  glory.  Even  in  France,  the  wretch 
who  goeth  forth  to  have  his  limbs  crushed  upon  the  wheel  bears  his 
head  erect  and  is  of  a  bold  countenance,  because  of  the  crowds  who 
have  come  out  to  see  him.  Wherefore,  for  the  better  putting  down 
of  crime,  let  the  whippings  and  the  hangings  be  secret ;  and  for  the 
better  putting  down  of  treason,  let  there  be  no  executions,  but  only 
loss  of  estate  and  contempt.  When  scholars  become  ministers  and 
philosophers  statesmen,  the  world  shall  be  better  ordered.' 

Why  did  not  Heaven  make  Mr.  Hilyard  the  son  of  a  noble  house, 
since  he  could  thus  discourse  so  wisely  ? 

I  was  told  afterwards  by  Lady  Cowper,  from  whom  I  learned 
at  this  time  a  great  deal,  that  the  unhappy  Lord  Derwentwater, 
being  under  examination  by  the  Council,  did  himself  much  harm 
in  his  replies  concerning  a  certain  letter  from  the  Prince.  In 
this  letter  his  Highness  thanked  him  for  the  transmission  of 
some  moneys,  said  kind  things  concerning  Colonel  Thomas  Rad- 
cliffe,  and  spoke  hardly  of  Mr.  Will  Radcliffe,  another  of  my 
lord's  uncles,  who  lived  in  Rome.    The  letter,  which  was  inter- 


276 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


ceptod  I  know  not  how,  also  furnished  particulars  concerning  private 
persons,  which  enabled  the  Ministry  to  seize  various  papers  of  con- 
sequence. The  prisoner  seemed  to  the  Council  to  trifle  with  them, 
treating  the  letter  as  an  invention  and  a  trick.  Possibly  he  did  this, 
out  of  the  great  kindness  of  his  heart,  in  order  to  avoid  implicating 
others  ;  because  no  one  that  I  know  ever  had  the  least  doubt  that 
he  kept  up  a  correspondence  with  the  Prince,  his  old  playfellow.  I 
cannot  understand  how  Lady  Cowper  (who  took  all  her  opinions 
from  her  husband)  could  speak  of  his  answer  as  showing  what  she 
called  ill  manners  and  foolish  cunning.  Certainly  a  man  must  try 
to  screen  his  friends,  and  the  Council  must  have  known  on  what 
terms  the  Prince  and  Lord  Derwentwater  had  always  been. 

I  have  long  considered  and  often  debated  with  Mr.  Hilyard  the 
case  of  this  trial,  and  the  reasons  why  Lord  Derwentwater  a,nd  Lord 
Kenmure  alone  should  have  been  executed,  seeing  that  neither  was 
worse  than  the  other  five,  and  that  one  of  them  was  better  (so  to 
speak),  because  he  might  have  brought  into  the  field  so  many  hun- 
dreds of  men,  and  he  brought  none.  Mr.  Hilyard,  who  is  now  a 
confessed  Whig  and  all  for  the  Protestant  Succession,  agrees  with 
me  that  King  George  at  first  intended  to  sacrifice  the  whole  seven, 
with  as  many  of  the  gentlemen  as  he  decently  could,  in  order  to 
strike  terror. 

*We  must  remember,'  he  said,  Hhat,  until  hangings  began  in 
Liverpool  and  Preston,  not  one  of  the  people  in  the  north;  whether 
prisoners  or  at  large,  believed  that  the  King  would  dare  hang  any, 
so  great  was  their  delusion  as  regards  the  strength  of  the  cause. 
But  when  the  King  saw  how  many  of  his  friends  would  be  struck, 
and  their  affections  alienated  by  the  deaths  of  these  great  lords,  he 
began  to  consider  which  among  them  had  the  fewest  friends.  These 
were  the  Lords  Derwentwater  and  Kenmure.  As  regards  the  former, 
his  title  was  of  so  recent  date  that  he  had  few  cousins  among  the 
Lords,  and  his  education  having  been  abroad,  he  had  no  friends  at 
all  among  his  Peers.  Therefore,  it  was  resolved  at  last  (even  Lord 
Nithsdale  being  reprieved  on  the  very  day  of  his  escape)  that  these 
two  alone  should  be  done  to  death.' 

I  would  say  with  regard  to  the  astonishment  of  the  North-country 
people  at  the  sentences,  and  their  stubborn  belief  in  the  cause,  that 
the  chief  reason  why  so  many  held  aloof,  why  those  who  came 
brought  so  few  with  them,  and  why  the  whole  five  counties  of  the 
north,  Northumberland,  Durham,  Lancashire,  Cumberland,  and 
Westmoreland,  did  not  all  rise  together,  was  that  each  man  thought 
he  should  not  be  wanted,  because  his  neighbours,  who  were  sure  to 
go,  would  suffice — one  had  business  or  was  ill,  or  newly  married — 
always  some  excuse  ;  and  when  the  enterprise  went  from  good  to 
bad,  and  from  bad  to  worse,  all  the  more  reason  for  sitting  still,  for 
why  throw  good  money  after  bad  ?  Since  I  understood  this,  I  have 
teased  from  feeling  indignation  against  those  who  ought  to  have 
come  out,  but  who  stayed  at  home. 


FRANK'S  ATTEMPT. 


CHAPTER  XXXYII. 

Frank's  attempt. 

And  now,  indeed,  if  anyt'aing  was  to  be  done,  it  was  the  time.  As 
for  my  lord,  he  was  ah-ead/  making  his  preparations  for  leaving  the 
world,  having  little  hope  left  of  reprieve  or  pardon.  Terrible  as  it 
is  at  any  age,  even  when  one  is  old  and  spent,  to  leave  the  light  of 
the  sun,  the  solace  of  friends  and  children,  and  those  joys  which 
belong  alike  to  every  time  of  life  and  to  every  condition,  most 
terrible  of  all  must  it  be  to  give  up  the  world,  which  is  full  of  every 
kind  of  joy  and  delight,  to  those  who  can  command  them,  when  one 
is  young,  a  husband  and  a  father,  rich,  beloved,  and  happy.  Yet  to 
this  Lord  Derwentwater  cheerfully  resigned  himself. 

I  suppose  that  never  in  the  history  of  this  country  have  con- 
demned prisoners  found  so  many  friends  as  these  six  lords.  Nothing 
more  clearly  proves  that  England  doth  steadfastly  refuse  (whatever 
the  Whigs  ma}^  say)  to  confound  adherence  to  the  ancient  House 
with  high  treason,  a  crime  against  which  the  English  blood  natur- 
ally shudders.  Many  have  been  executed  for  this  crime,  especially 
under  Henry  VIII.  and  the  three  Piinoes  who  came  after  him. 
But  never  once  did  any  great  lords  exert  themselves  to  save  these 
criminals.  Yet  here  were  great  lords  and  noblemen,  Whigs  ail- 
that  is  to  say,  of  the  offended  side — besieging  the  throne  (occupied 
by  a  German  Duke)  for  mercy,  while  even  their  public  journals, 
and  those  red-hot  pulpits  which  had  bawled  so  loudly  for  revenge, 
now  considered  with  horror  the  prospect  of  spilling  this  noble  blood. 
The  Princess  of  Wales  herself,  moved  with  womanly  compassion, 
resolved  to  do  Her  best,  difficult  though  it  was,  to  save  one  of  the 
six,  and  chose  Lord  Carnwath  for  the  object  of  her  mercy.  He  was 
at  this  time  but  thirty  years  of  age,  said  to  be  of  great  virtue  and. 
excellent  parts,  educated  at  Oxford.  Nor  was  she  deterred  one  whit 
from  her  purpose  by  the  fact  that  his  lordship's  mother  was  a  most 
violent  and  indiscreet  woman,  who  went  about  declaring  everywhere 
that  her  son  would  fall  in  a  noble  cause.  She,  therefore,  sent  Sir 
David  Hamilton  to  him,  telling  him  that  his  only  hope  lay  in  con- 
fession. Upon  this  the  Earl  wrote  a  letter,  in  which  he  confessed 
that  he  had  gone  to  Lorraine  and  conversed  with  the  Prince,  and 
urged  him  to  make  very  sure  of  his  friends  in  England  before  he 
went  to  Scotland  (which  was  sound  advice,  and,  if  the  Prince  had 
followed  it,  we  had  all  been  saved).  He  also  said  that  he  learned, 
from  some  of  the  Prince's  company,  that  it  was  debated  whether 
the  King  of  Sweden  should  not  be  invited  into  Scotland,  there  to 
establish  King  James  by  force  of  arms.  The  revelation  of  this 
design,  as  nothing  could  do  the  Prince  more  harm,  was,  perhaps,  of 
itself  sufficient  service  to  warrant  the  release  of  the  prisoner.  Alas  ! 
that  a  righteous  cause  should  be  ruined  by  foolish  counsellors  !  It 
is  now  by  French  arms,  now  by  Swedish,  that  the  King  is  to  be 
restored  !  As  if  the  proud  English  nation  will  ever  receive  a  Prince 
thus  imposed  upon  them  !  In  the  end,  Lord  Carnwath  was  suHered 


278 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


to  go  free,  but  his  honours  were  attainted,  and  he  became  a  simple 
Scottish  gentleman.  As  for  the  Countess  of  Nithsdale,  the  recol- 
lection of  her  gallant  rescue  of  her  husband  always  makes  my  blood 
to  boil,  because  our  own  scheme,  which  was  so  safe  and  easy,  was 
put  out  of  our  power  by  the  act  of  Providence,  as  you  shall  learn 
presently.  Lady  Nithsdale  did  not,  however,  resort  to  this  strata- 
gem until  she  had  first  tried  every  method.  She  even  waylaid  the 
King  on  his  passage  to  the  Drawing  Koom  from  his  own  apart- 
ments. She  held  in  her  hands  a  petition,  drawn  up  by  her  husband  ; 
and  as  he  passed  she  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  crying  out  in  French, 
so  that  he  could  not  pretend  not  to  understand,  that  she  was  the 
unfortunate  Countess  of  Nithsdale.  He  made  as  if  he  would  pass 
without  attending,  but  she  caught  at  the  skirt  of  his  coat  ;  he  tried 
to  tear  it  from  her  hand,  and  actually  dragged  her  on  her  knees 
(was  not  this  an  act  of  Kingly  clemency  ?)  to  the  very  door  of  the 
Drawing  Room,  where  two  of  the  officers  seized  her,  one  by  the 
waist  and  the  other  by  the  hands,  and  so  tore  her  from  the  King's 
presence. 

Lady  Derwentwater  fared  no  better,  except  that,  with  a  cruelty 
only  equalled  by  James  IL  when  he  saw  the  Duke  of  Monmouth 
after  trial,  the  King  consented  to  receive  her.  The  unhappy 
woman,  who  was  accompanied  by  the  Duchesses  of  Cleveland  and 
Bolton  and  by  many  other  great  ladies,  was  presented  to  the  King 
by  the  Dukes  of  St.  Albans  and  Richmond,  sons  of  Charles  II.,  and 
therefore  half-uncles  to  Lord  Derwentwater. 

The  Countess  fell  upon  her  knees  (it  was  on  Sunday,  after  Divine 
Service,  when  the  heart  should  be  naturally  open  to  compassion,  as 
being  just  absolved  from  sin  and  still  repentant),  and  thereupon,  in 
a  kind  of  rapture,  implored  the  King  for  mercy.  Those  who  were 
present  and  heard  her  prayer  have  declared  that  never  could  they 
believe  a  woman  able  to  speak  so  movingly,  with  such  eloquence, 
such  art  (as  it  seemed,  but  it  was  only  the  art  of  great  love  and 
great  misery),  such  passion.  Those  who  were  with  her  wept  aloud, 
and  even  among  the  gentlemen  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  or  a  face 
unmoved — excepting  only  the  King's.  While  every  heart  was  bleed- 
ing, he  alone  stood  listening  with  hard  eyes  and  fixed  lips,  and 
presently  suffered  her  to  be  led  away  without  a  word  of  hope.  Her 
husband,  he  was  resolved,  should  die.  He  was  the  youngest,  the 
noblest,  and  the  best  of  all ;  he  was  no  more  deeply  involved  than 
the  rest,  but  he  was  the  friend  and  companion  of  the  Prince  ; 
therefore,  he  must  be  sent  to  his  doom.  Is  it  not  wonderful  that 
any  man,  much  more  wonderful  a  Prince,  should  be  found  not  only 
so  vindictive,  but  so  lost  to  honour  and  to  shame,  as  thus  to  sport 
with  the  misery  and  despair  of  a  woman,  and  take  pleasure  in  seeing 
his  victim's  wife  lying  humbled  at  his  feet  ? 

Yet,  I  suppose  to  show  some  pretence  of  clemency,  on  the  follow- 
ing day— namely,  Monday,  the  20th  of  February,  four  days  before 
the  execution — two  noblemen  went  to  the  Tower,  and  offered  my 
lord  his  life  if  he  would  acknowledge  the  title  of  King  G-eorge  and 
adopt  the  Protestant  religion.    The  Earl  refused  (could  a  man  of 


FRANK'S  ATTEMPT.  27$ 

honour  accept  these  conditions  ?),  declaring  that  he  would  sooner 
lose  his  life  than  give  up  his  faith.  I  heard  these  things,  day  by 
day,  from  Lady  Cowper,  and  I  believe  no  secret  was  made  of  them, 
for  Mr.  Hilyard  heard  them  at  the  coffee-houses  and  in  Newgate, 
whither  he  went  daily,  and  where,  you  may  suppose,  the  fate  of  the 
lords  was  watched  with  alternate  hope  and  fear ;  for,  as  those  noble 
heads  were  brought  nearer  the  block,  every  man  felt  his  own  neck 
tightened. 

The  next  day,  being  Tuesday,  they  sent  two  Protestant  ministers 
to  the  Earl,  begging  that  he  would  only  send  for  some  learned 
Divine  of  the  Church  of  England,  as  if  to  consult  on  religious 
doubts.  But  my  lord  had  no  doubts,  and  would  not  pretend  to  any, 
even  if  thereby  he  might  save  his  life.  I  could  have  wished, 
so  that  I  could  feel  his  future  lot  assured,  that  he  had  become  a 
Protestant ;  but  to  pretend  religious  doubts,  to  sell  his  faith  for  a 
few  transitory  years,  this  would  have  destroyed  for  ever  the  noble 
image  that  lived  in  my  heart,  and  put  in  its  place  a  poor  and  con- 
temptible creature  indeed. 

"Whilst  the  Countess  and  her  great  friends  were  vainly  endeavour- 
ing the  release  of  Lord  Derwent water,  others  were  resolved  to 
attempt  it,  and  would  have  carried  it  out  in  much  simpler  fashion, 
but  for  fate,  or  rather  Providence,  which  willed  otherwise.  Frank 
Radcliffe,  like  all  persons  in  his  sad  condition,  one  day  contemplated 
death  with  resignation,  and  the  next  looked  forward  with  confidence 
to  getting  better  in  a  few  days.  In  one  of  the  latter  periods  Jenny 
communicated  to  him  her  design,  which  we  had  hitherto  hidden 
from  him.  Immediately  he  fell  into  a  kind  of  fever  in  his  anxiety 
to  be  the  means  of  liberating  his  brother.  He  would  go  that  very 
day — the  next  day,  then.  There  must  not  be  a  moment  lost.  What 
did  it  matter  if  he  were  imprisoned,  if  only  the  Earl  could  be  saved  ? 
If  he  could  not  walk,  he  must  be  carried. 

*  Cousin  Dorothy,'  the  poor  lad  whispered,  *  my  life  has  been  of 
very  little  account.  What  can  a  poor  Catholic  gentleman  do  in 
this  country,  which  denies  him  everything  ?  I  might  have  been  a 
scholar,  but  you  will  not  admit  me  to  your  Universities  ;  or  a 
statesman,  but  I  may  not  enter  Parliament  ;  or  a  soldier,  but  you 
will  not  suffer  me  so  much  as  to  carry  the  colours.  Yet,  am  I  not 
an  Englishman  ?  Let  me  do  one  thing,  at  least,  before  I  die.  Do 
not  tell  J enny,  because  I  think  she  loves  me  ;  but  I  believe  that  I 
am  dying.' 

I  told  him  (though  I  knew  it  was  untrue)  that  he  should  not  die, 
but  recover  and  live  ;  yea,  that  he  should  do  this  brave  thing.  But 
my  heart  sank  within  me,  for  he  was  now  so  weak  that  he  could 
not  stand  upon  his  feet  or  hold  up  his  head,  and  his  cough  was  so 
violent  that  it  seemed  to  tear  him  asunder.  He  had  no  ease 
except  when  Jenny  was  with  him,  which  could  not  be  in  the 
evenings.  She  charmed  away  his  cough,  and  laid  him,  by  that 
magic  skill  of  hers,  in  a  quiet  slumber,  during  which,  at  least,  he 
did  not  cough.  I  met  the  girl  now  without  the  repugnance  which 
first  I  felt  towards  her,  forgiving  her  deception  in  the  matter  of 


28o 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


the  sorcery  at  Dilston,  and  even  forgetting  that  she  was  an  actress, 
and  seeing  in  her  the  only  woman  who  was  able  to  alleviate  his 
sufferings  for  this  poor  dying  lad.  What  matter,  now,  that  he  was 
in  love  with  her,  or  she  so  ambitious  as  to  look  for  him  to  marry 
her  ? 

In  these  days,  when  each  hour  was  of  importance,  Mr.  Hilyard 
and  I  looked  at  each  other  with  sad  and  despairing  eyes,  but  dared 
not  say  what  was  in  our  hearts.  Frank  was  dying  ;  the  hopes  that 
he  built  upon  his  likeness  to  his  brother  were  fast  fading.  If  ever 
he  rose  again  from  his  bed,  it  would  be  after  his  unhappy  brother 
was  executed  and  buried.    Yet  J enny,  for  one,  could  not  believe  it. 

'He  is  better,'  she  said  every  morning  ;  'he  is  better  and  stronger 
than  yesterday.  Last  night  he  slept.  His  physicians  assure  me  he 
is  easier.    With  one  more  good  night's  rest  he  will  be  strong  again.' 

'  Oh,  Jenny  !'  I  whispered,  '  he  will  never  be  strong  again  !'  But 
she  shook  her  head  impatiently,  and  would  not  listen. 

One  morning,  beside  his  bedside,  while  he  slept,  she  told  me,  with 
many  tears,  how  the  poor  lovesick  boy  followed  her,  without  any  en- 
couragement from  herself,  from  place  to  place  when  she  first  began  to 
play,  so  that  it  became  a  subject  of  ridicule  and  mirth  for  the  com- 
pany ;  how  it  was  he  who  first  gave  her  dresses  in  which  to  make  a 
brave  show  upon  the  stage  ;  how  he  encouraged  and  exhorted  her  to 
study  and  practise  and  not  to  lose  heart,  but  even  before  an  audience 
of  bumpkins  and  upon  the  boards  of  a  barn  to  do  her  best  and  to 
speak  out  as  if  for  a  London  audience  ;  how  he  took  her  from  her 
strolling  company  and  brought  her  to  London  and  paid  for  her 
lodging,  treating  her  with  such  honour  as  one  doth  not,  alas !  always 
expect  or  often  observe  in  a  gentleman  towards  an  actress,  or  a 
woman  of  her  lowly  origin  ;  how,  at  length,  but  not  until  her  efforts 
were  crowned  with  success,  and  she  became  almost  at  a  leap  a 
favourite  of  the  great  city  and  one  of  his  Majesty's  servants  at 
Drury  Lane,  he  asked  her  to  marry  him. 

'  Oh,  Miss  Dorothy  !'  she  said,  '  you  know  me,  what  I  am.  Why, 
my  father  was  a  gipsy  ;  and  as  for  me,  I  can  conjure,  tell  fortunes, 
read  the  future,  lie,  steal,  cozen,  and  cheat  the  eyes  with  any  of 
them  ;  or  better,  because  some  are  foolish  and  clumsy.  Yet  he 
would  marry  me — a  gentleman  would  marry  me  !  I  have  plenty  of 
lovers  at  my  choice.  But  for  marriage— no,  indeed.  It  was  I  who 
kept  him  from  going  off  with  Mr.  Charles  last  summer.  What ! 
Let  my  man  go  fighting  on  other  people's  business  ?  Not  I.  What 
do  I  care  for  Prince  or  Pretender,  this  King  and  that  ?  He  will 
marry  me,  as  soon  as  he  gets  well ;  and  then  I  will  leave  the  stage, 
and  we  will  live  somewhere  retired,  where  no  one  will  ask  if  I  was 
once  Jenny  Lee,  the  actress.  For  look  you,  Miss  Dorothy,  I  would 
not  shame  him.' 

'  But  he  is  a  Catholic,  Jenny.  Would  you,  too,  become  a 
Catholic  ?' 

She  laughed.    All  the  gipsy  came  into  her  face. 
'  Why,'  she  said,  '  for  that  matter  I  am  a  Protestant  with  you  ; 
if  I  go  to  the  tents  of  my  people,  what  are  they,  and  what  am  I, 


FRANK'S  ATTEMPT. 


with  them  ?  They  lie  in  the  sun  ;  they  love  the  open  air ;  they 
whistle  to  the  birds  ;  like  the  birds,  they  live  to-day,  and  to-morrow 
they  die,  and  are  buried  in  the  ditch,  and  so  forgotten.  But  to  live 
is  enough  for  them.  Oh  that  I  were  out  of  this  town  and  in  the 
open  country,  with  Frank  well  and  strong  beside  me  !  What  matter 
what  he  believes  and  calls  his  religion  ?  As  soon  as  he  gets  well  it 
shall  be  mine.'  She  spread  her  arms  abroad  and  repeated,  with  a 
strange  yearning  look  in  her  black  eyes — poor  Jenny  ! — 'As  soon  as 
he  gets  well.' 

Kow,  all  this  time,  Frank  was  lying  in  the  sleep  into  which  J enny 
had  thrown  him.  When  she  went  away,  at  last,  she  made  those 
motions  with  her  hands  which  always  awakened  him.  He  was 
easier,  it  seemed,  but  his  voice  was  low.  She  kissed  him  on  the 
forehead,  bade  him  keep  quiet  and  sleep  if  he  could,  and  left  us.  I 
was  to  stay  with  him  all  the  evening. 

'  Tell  me  again,'  he  whispered,  '  what  I  am  to  do  in  order  to  rescue 
my  brother  James.' 

Alas  !  It  was  already  Saturday  ;  the  fatal  day  was  fixed  for  the 
following  Thursday  ;  though  that  we  knew  not.  But  I  knew  very 
well  that  the  day  was  now  very  near. 

'  Do  not  speak,  then,  Frank,  but  listen.'  So  I  told  him  all  over 
again,  just  as  one  tells  a  child  the  same  story  till  he  knows  it  by 
heart,  and  yet  must  have  it  told  over  again,  that  he  w^as  to  be  dis- 
guised with  false  eyebrows  and  paint,  and  so,  wdth  Jenny,  gain 
admittance  to  his  brother's  cell,  and  then — but  I  have  already  told 
the  scheme,  which  was  as  simple  as  it  was  clever.  He  felt  so  easy 
this  evening,  though  weak,  that  it  pleased  him  to  imagine  himself 
carrying  out  this  brave  project. 

In  the  evening,  w^hen  he  had  taken  some  broth,  he  felt,  he  said,  his 
strength  returning  fast,  and  tried  to  sit  up,  but  with  no  great  success. 

'  Sometimes,'  he  told  me,  '  I  wake  in  the  night  cold  and  shivering, 
and  feel  as  if  the  dews  of  death  were  already  upon  my  forehead  ; 
sometimes  I  awake  full  of  courage,  and,  though  in  the  darkness, 
think  to  see  my  life  stretching  far  before  me,  with  Jenny  in  my 
arms.  I  am  resolved  what  I  shall  do  when  I  recover.  I  shall  marry 
her  without  delay,  and  take  her  from  the  theatre  (where  her  ambi- 
tion has  been  sufficiently  gratified),  and  so  away  to  the  country ;  or, 
perhaps,  to  France,  where  we  will  live  retired,  and  meditate.'  Then 
he  spoke  of  the  joys  of  a  country  life,  and  how  among  such  simple 
pleasures  as  books,  a  garden,  and  the  open  air,  the  years  would 
peacefully  slip  away.  '  I  w^ant  no  more,'  he  said.  'Perhaps  I  for- 
merly  asked  too  much  of  Heaven.  Who  am  I  that  I  should  sigh 
for  distinction  and  honour?  What  profit  would  they  be  to  me 
beside  a  calm  and  peaceful  life  with  the  woman  I  love  ?  Let  others 
care  for  these  things.' 

I  asked  him,  seeing  that  it  gave  him  no  pain  to  speak,  how  it  was 
that  he  fell  in  love  with  Jenny. 

'  I  know  not  how,'  he  replied.  '  Perhaps  it  was  because  I  found 
with  her,  from  the  very  first,  a  strange  rest ;  she  seems  to  know  be- 
forehand what  are  my  very  thoughts  and  what  I  wish.  Besides,  she 


282 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


is,  as  everybody  confesses,  the  most  beautiful  of  women  as  well  as 
the  most  sprightly,  the  most  bewitching,  and  the  most  witty.  How 
do  I  know  why  I  love  her  ?' 

All  this  he  said,  and  more,  in  broken  discourse,  as  he  felt  able  to 
talk.  In  the  intervals  I  read  to  him  or  talked  to  him  ;  nor  did  1 
leave  him  until  it  was  time  for  him  to  go  to  bed,  whither  his  land- 
lady's two  strapping  sons  carried  him  first,  and  then  guarded  me, 
armed  with  stout  sticks — for  the  streets  were  full  of  rough  and 
desperate  men — to  my  own  lodging. 

I  knew  not  that  I  had  talked  with  a  dying  man.  Yet  in  the 
morning,  when  they  took  him  his  cup  of  broth,  they  found  him 
lying  cold  and  dead.  His  soul  had  passed  away  in  sleep,  and  he  lay, 
his  head  upon  his  hand,  calm,  peaceful,  and  with  a  smile  upon  his 
thin  and  wasted  lips.  As  for  his  face,  when  we  looked  upon  it,  it 
was  so  like  his  brother's,  that  one  trembled  and  felt  cold,  knowing 
that  before  many  days,  as  poor  Frank's  face  looked  now,  so  would 
look  that  other,  cold  in  death. 

Mr.  Hilyard  brought  me  the  dreadful  news.  Poor  Frank  !  "We 
wept  not  so  much  for  him  as  for  the  ruin  of  our  hopes  ;  for  now 
our  last  chance  was  gone.  Yet  one  might  well  have  wept  for  the 
shortness  of  a  life  which  seemed  born  for  happiness.  The  curse  of 
the  Stuarts  had  fallen  also  upon  the  RadclifEes  ;  better  had  it  been 
for  them,  a  thousand  times  better,  had  they  married  with  their  own 
people,  and  remained  plain  country  knights. 

In  the  chamber  where  lay  the  dead  man  upon  the  bed  (was  it 
possible  that  the  cold  face,  so  white  and  still,  was  but  last  night 
full  of  hope  and  life,  and  the  fixed  eyes  full  of  light  ?)  sat  J enny 
Lee,  her  hands  clasped,  not  crying  or  sobbing,  but  as  one  in  a  trance. 
I  tried  such  words  of  comfort  as  one  attempts  in  the  hour  of  sorrow; 
but  they  were  vain.  Mr.  Hilyard  addressed  her,  ordering  her  to 
seek  relief  in  prayer  and  resignation  ;  but  she  shook  her  head.  Who 
shall  comfort  a  woman  in  the  first  moments  of  her  bereavement  ? 
Frank  was  dead.  Why,  then,  leave  poor  J  enny  awhile  alone  with 
her  senseless  corpse.    Come  out  and  shut  the  door. 

Frank  was  dead  ;  and  with  him  died  the  last  of  our  hopes. 

*  Mine,*  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  have  been  dead  since  I  saw  that  he 
could  never  more  leave  his  chamber.  Had  that  poor  lad  been  strong, 
we  had  made  such  a  gallant  rescue  as  would  have  made  all  England 
to  ring  with  the  story.  But  he  is  dead.  Poor  Jenny  !  It  was  for 
his  sake  that  she  took  care  of  her  reputation  and  is  blameless.  Now 
he  is  gone — why — poor  Jenny!' 

Presently  she  came  forth,  still  with  dry  eyes. 

^He  was  a  Catholic,'  she  said.  'Let  us  remember  that  when  he 
is  buried.  Will  you  look  to  his  funeral,  Mr.  Hilyard  ?  His  religion 
did  not,  you  see,  prev^ent  him  from  dying  so  young,  any  more  than 
if  he  had  been  a  gipsy  lying  in  a  ditch.  No  matter  ;  I  am  hence- 
forth of  his  religion.' 

We  made  no  reply.  She  looked  about  the  room,  and  gathered 
together  two  or  three  books. 


FRANK'S  ATTEMPT. 


283 


*  These,  she  said,  '  I  will  take,  because  they  are  mine,  with  my 
own  name  in  them  ;  and  if  any  of  his  friends  care  to  see  where  and 
how  he  died,  it  will  be  well  not  to  let  them  feel  ashamed  because  he 
loved  an  actress.  Oh,  Miss  Dorothy  !'  she  burst  into  tears  and  fell 
to  kissing  my  hands  ;  '  it  is  for  you  I  am  crying,  not  for  myself  ; 
for  Frank  is  dead,  and  there  is  no  one  now  to  rescue  my  lord,  who 
will  surely  die. 

It  was  Sunday  morning  ;  at  that  very  moment  the  Countess  was 
pouring  out  her  passionate  prayer  for  mercy,  and  the  King  was 
listening  with  stony  eyes  and  hardened  heart.  There  was  now  no 
room  for  help  or  hope  ;  but  he  must  die. 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

MY    lord's    last  days. 

Let  me  return  to  the  last  days  of  Lord  Derwentwater,  who,  perhaps 
(but  of  this  I  am  not  sure),  never  heard  of  his  brother's  death. 

The  chief  clergyman,  or  priest,  of  the  Eoman  Catholic  Church  in 
London  was  then  the  Reverend  Bonaventura  Gifford,  commonly 
called  in  their  ecclesiastical  manner  the  Vicar  Apostolic.  Immedi- 
ately after  sentence  had  been  pronounced,  this  learned  Father 
applied  for  permission  to  administer  spiritual  consolation  and  the 
offices  of  the  Church  to  this  man  about  to  die.  For  some  reason 
which  I  know  not,  this  permission  was  refused,  and  Dr.  Gifford 
denied  admission  to  the  prisoner.  The  Government,  however,  con- 
sented that  a  certain  Father  Pippard,  a  simple  priest,  should  attend 
him  during  the  fortnight  between  sentence  and  execution. 

I  have  seen  and  have  copied  out  with  my  own  hand  a  letter  in 
which  this  pious  man  set  down  all  that  he  remembered  concerning 
my  lord's  last  days  upon  the  earth.  From  the  beginning,  though 
not  without  hope  (even  the  meanest  and  vilest  criminal  never,  I 
suppose,  abandons  hope  till  the  cart  moves  from  under  his  feet, 
much  more  this  innocent  victim),  he  resigned  himself  to  the  steady 
and  fearless  contemplation  of  death,  and  gave  himself  over  alto- 
gether to  those  religious  exercises  that  were  ordered  by  his  spiritual 
advisers,  together  with  the  reading  of  such  books  as  were  most 
proper  for  a  man  so  soon  about  to  be  summoned  before  his  Judge. 
Thus,  each  morning  he  read,  as  directed,  a  chapter  or  two  of  the 
New  Testament,  and  especially  those  of  our  Lord's  Passion,  with 
some  portion  of  the  *  Following  of  Christ,'  '  The  Confessions  of 
Saint  Austin,'  and  other  good  books  chosen  for  him  by  his  adviser. 
Methinks  nothing  in  the  world  can  so  smooth  a  death-bed  and 
console  a  dying  man  as  the  memory  of  having  written  a  good 
book  for  the  consolation  of  sorrowful  and  stricken  souls  and  the 
strengthening  of  faith  for  those  about  to  die.  (Poor  Frank  had 
no  such  interval  of  meditation  and  prayer.)  Chiefly  my  lord  read 
with  wonderful  satisfaction,  the  good  priest  said,  the  edifying 
history  of  a  certain  Italian  youth,  who  for  some  crime — I  know  not 
of  what  nature,  or  perhaps  unjustly,  like  Lord  Derwentwater — was 
condemned  to  death,  but  fell  into  so  beautiful  a  repentance,  and  so 


284 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


heRrtily  prayed,  meditated,  and  fasted,  that  he  made  of  the  death 
which  he  could  not  avoid  a  voluntary  sacrifice  of  himself,  his  life, 
and  affections,  before  the  throne  of  God,  thereby  imitating  the 
blessed  example  of  Him  who,  though  it  was  ordained  by  His 
Heavenly  Father  that  He  should  drink  the  chalice,  yet  did  it 
voluntarily  and  of  His  own  free  will  and  consent.  This  example 
my  lord  proposed  to  follow. 

Further,  when  they  came — not  once,  but  several  times — to  offer 
him  his  life  if  he  would  change  his  religion,  which  was  a  most 
wicked  and  a  most  diabolical  temptation  to  lay  before  so  young 
and  so  fortunate  a  man,  with  all  earth's  pleasures  before  him,  he 
refused  without  the  least  hesitation  or  doubt.  *  And  this,'  said 
Father  Pippard's  letter,  '  he  told  me  with  the  greatest  transport  of 
joy,  that  having  refused  his  life  on  such  terms,  he  hoped  it  was  not 
now  making  a  virtue  of  necessity  ;  that,  had  he  a  thousand  lives,  he 
would  sooner  part  with  them  than  renounce  his  faith  ;  and,  with 
tears  of  joy  in  his  eyes,  he  humbly  thanked  God  for  giving  him 
this  opportunity  of  testifying  his  love  for  Him.'  Not  once,  but 
twice,  they  troubled  him  with  this  offer,  which  was  as  insulting  to 
the  honour  of  the  Earl  as  it  was  disgraceful  to  the  humanity  of 
those  who  proposed  this  temptation.  Whoever  they  were,  they 
entreated  him  earnestly,  even  on  the  day  before  his  execution,  that 
he  would  make  some  sign,  as  it  were,  of  doubt  concerning  the 
Articles  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Faith,  if  only  to  borrow  a  book  of 
Protestant  controversy.  But  he  steadfastly  refused  to  beg  his  life 
on  these  terms.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  possibly  it  was  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  who  was  thus  anxious  to  find  an  excuse 
for  begging  a  reprieve.  Everybody  knows  well  that  there  were 
some,  even  among  the  Ministers  and  in  the  Privy  Council,  who 
would  gladly  have  seen  him  pardoned,  if  only  a  show  of  reason 
could  be  arrived  at  with  which  to  move  the  King.  But  without 
such  excuse  there  was  no  possibility  of  further  interference,  and 
so  the  law  must  take  its  course. 

One  more  chance  remained,  and  it  was  the  last.  The  Countess 
had  appealed  in  person  to  the  King,  but  without  avail ;  she  would 
now  appeal  to  the  Houses  of  Parliament.  On  Tuesday  this  noble 
and  courageous  woman,  accompanied  by  a  large  number  of  ladies, 
her  friends,  went  to  the  House  of  Lords  with  a  petition,  which  was 
presented  by  the  Duke  of  Richmond.  The  petition  was  supported 
by  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and,  which  was  thought  a  most 
remarkable  thing,  by  the  Earl  of  Nottingham,  one  of  the  Ministers. 
In  the  end,  the  Hou^e  moved  that  an  address  be  presented  to  the 
King,  that  he  should  reprieve  such  of  the  condemned  lords  as 
should  deserve  his  mercy.  A  motion  to  the  same  effect  was  made 
in  the  House  of  Commons,  but  was  rejected  by  a  majority  of 
seven,  some  of  the  speakers  against  it  being  very  violent. 

The  interference  of  the  lords  did  no  good,  except  to  anger  and 
harden  the  King  so  far  as  Lord  Derwentwater's  case  was  concerned  *, 
but  on  Wednesday,  Lord  Widdrington  and  Lord  Carnwath  were 
reprieved.    Lord  Nairn  had  already  been  reprieved  through  the 


MY  LORD'S  LAST  DA  YS. 


285 


instance  of  Lord  Stanhope,  who  declared  that  he  would  resign  hia 
office  if  his  old  school-fellow  at  Eton  was  not  pardoned.  On 
Thursday,  though  he  knew  it  not,  and  escaped  on  that  same  day, 
Lord  Nithsdale  was  also  reprieved.  It  is  therefore  clear  that  from 
the  beginning  it  was  resolved  to  make  an  example  in  the  person  of 
the  youngest  and  the  least  guilty  (supposing  there  is  any  guilt  in 
taking  up  arms  for  your  lawful  Sovereign). 

On  Thursday,  when  three  out  of  the  seven  lords  were  already 
reprieved,  the  Countess  made  another  effort  to  see  the  King.  She 
was,  as  before,  accompanied  by  her  friends.  But  the  King  this 
time  obstinately  refused  to  see  her,  and  gave  her  to  understand 
that  her  husband's  execution  would  take  place  the  next  morning. 

Then  at  last  she  ceased  her  exertions,  and  went  to  the  Tower  for 
her  last  most  sad  and  sorrowful  parting  with  her  husband,  the  thing 
dreaded  by  him  far  more  than  the  executioner's  axe,  insomuch  that 
he  had  begged  her,  through  Lord  Widdrington,  to  take  her  last 
farewell  a  week  before,  in  order  that  his  last  moments  might  be 
wholly  given  up  to  God.  But  this  was  too  hard  for  her  to  bear, 
and  he  was  overruled.  Father  Pippard  wrote  in  that  letter  of  his, 
*  No  man  could  have  a  greater  regard  and  tenderness  for  his  wife 
than  he  had  for  you,  and  I  think  there  could  not  be  a  greater  argu- 
ment of  it  than  this,  that  when  he  seemed  to  be  raised  above  the 
sentiments  of  the  world  in  everything  else,  he  had  not  quite  got 
the  better  of  himself  in  regard  to  your  ladyship,  though  even  here 
he  appeared  wonderful  to  me.  For  the  last  morning  your  ladyship 
parted  from  him  I  was  surprised  to  find  him  so  composed  ;  and, 
congratulating  his  lordship  upon  the  victory  he  had  gained  over  his 
affections,  he  answered  that  you  had  been,  both  of  you,  upon  your 
knees  begging  that  favour  of  God,  for  nigh  a  quarter  of  an  itiour 
before  you  took  leave  of  each  other.' 

Nothing  more  sorrowful  can  be  thought  of  than  the  picture  of 
that  unhappy  pair  kneeling  side  by  side  to  pray  that  they  might  so 
gain  the  victory  over  their  affections  as  to  part  with  each  other  with 
resignation.  It  cannot  be  a  part  of  religion — I  cannot  bring  myself 
to  think  that  it  is — for  a  man  thus  on  the  point  of  death  to  tear  his 
wife  out  of  his  heart,  or  for  her  to  let  him  go  out  of  hers.  Rather 
should  they  thank  Heaven  for  the  earthly  love  they  have  enjoyed 
together,  and  pray  that  it  may  be  continued  and  glorified  in  the 
heavenly  world,  so  that  they  may  together  experience  the  joys  of 
that  blessed  abode,  and  be  the  more  happy  in  knowing  of  each 
other's  bliss.  But  perhaps  Catholics  think  differently,  and  although 
they  have  made  marriage  into  a  sacrament  (without  Scriptural 
warrant),  they  have  ever  been  harsh  as  regards  their  opinion  of 
women. 

Every  year,  once,  on  the  day  of  my  lord's  execution,  I  read  this 
letter  of  Father  Pippard  with  tears,  and  I  make  no  doubt  that  his 
w-dow  did  the  same  ;  for  she  never  smiled  after  her  husband's 
deal^\  but  slowly  wasted  away,  and  some  years  later  died,  being 
then  noi  yet  thirty,  poor  soul !  (It  was  in  Louvain  that  she  died, 
and  lies  bu.  'ed  in  the  English  convent  there,  having  been  a  most 


286 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


pious  woman,  and  strict  in  the  practice  of  all  the  duties  enjoined 
by  her  Church.) 

During  that  last  fortnight  the  Earl  talked  continually,  while  the 
Countess  was  with  him  (this  she  told  me  herself),  of  his  early  days 
and  the  few  events  of  his  short  life,  just  as  old  men  soon  about  to 
die  love  to  think  of  the  days  when  they  were  young  and  strong. 
He  spoke  of  his  education  at  St.  Germain's,  of  his  return  to  his 
native  country  and  the  greetings  of  his  friends  and  cousins,  of  the 
summer  he  spent  chiefly  in  my  society,  speaking  of  me,  even  at 
such  a  time,  in  words  of  kindness  which  I  can  never  forget,  and 
recall  with  a  kind  of  pride  that  so  great  and  noble  a  heart  should 
deceive  himself  into  imagining  that  I  possessed  those  great  qualities 
which  he  ascribed  to  me.  It  is  only  a  good  heart  which  thinks 
others  good.  He  even  sent  me  a  last  gift  in  token  of  his  regard 
and  affection  for  me,  and  in  memory  of  our  former  friendship. 
*  Give  Dorothy  for  me,'  he  said,  'with  my  love  and  prayer  for  her 
welfare — something— whatever  thou  wilt.  But  let  it  be  something 
which  I  have  given  to  thee,  sweetheart,  since  we  married.  This 
she  will  value  most.' 

Surely  never  was  there  a  more  loyal  and  generous  man.  He 
wished  me  to  feel  that  he  had  never  forgotten  me  ;  but,  withal,  I 
must  learn  that  he  loved  me  with  an  affection  pure  and  free  from 
earthly  passion,  as  he  desired  my  affection  to  be  towards  him  ;  and 
this  he  would  show  by  giving  me  something  which  he  had  given 
to  his  wife ;  this  I  need  not  be  ashamed  as  a  virtuous  woman  to 
receive,  nor  he  as  a  Christian  man  to  offer ;  nor  she,  as  one  who 
wholly  possessed  his  heart,  to  give. 

In  this  spirit  I  accepted  the  ring  of  topaz  and  amethyst  which  the 
Countess  drew  from  her  finger  and  put  upon  mine,  kissing  me  with 
abundance  of  tears,  and  saying : 

'  Did  you  ever  hear  the  like,  Dorothy,  that  one  woman  should 
give  to  another  a  gift  from  her  husband  and  yet  not  be  jealous  ! 
Yet,  dear  Dorothy,  I  have  known  all  along  how  much  he  continued 
to  love  you  and  esteem  you,  and  that  without  the  least  suspicion  or 
touch  of  jealousy,  so  true  he  was,  and  open  in  all  that  he  did  and 
said,  and  so  sure  was  I  that  I  owned  all  his  heart.' 

She  did  indeed,  and  I  could  now  think  of  it  without  bitterness, 
though  there  was  once  a  time  when  I  wondered  how  men  could  so 
change  their  heart  as  to  be  all  for  one  woman  in  the  spring,  so  to 
speak,  and  all  for  another  in  the  summer.  For  sure  and  certain 
my  lord  had  no  eyes  for  any  other  woman,  save  in  the  way  of 
honest  and  friendly  affection,  after  he  was  married  ;  and  to  him 
she  was  a  good  and  loyal  wife,  though  (because  she  was  human) 
not  wholly  free  from  certain  small  imperfections  which  sometimes 
caused  rubs,  due  to  quickness  of  temper  and  the  like,  of  which  we 
know. 

But  oh  !  to  think  that  in  this,  his  last  mortal  agony,  being  at 
very  threshold  of  death,  in  the  anteroom  of  the  Great  Juds'^ent 
Hall,  a  soul  trembling  in  the  presence  of  his  Maker,  e:^5aged  in 
earnest  repentance,  and  anxiously  seeking  assurance  of  i.orgiveness, 


MY  LORUS  LAST  DA  YS. 


287 


he  should  have  thought  of  me  !  I  have  desired  in  my  will  that  this 
ring,  with  one  other  thing,  be  buiied  with  me  in  my  coffin. 

I  asked  the  Countess  how  he  looked  on  this  his  last  day.  She 
told  that  for  want  of  the  fresh  air  and  riding  exercises,  to  which  he 
was  accustomed,  he  was  pale  of  cheek  ;  but  that,  owing  to  the  fast- 
ing diet  which  he  thought  becoming  to  one  in  his  position,  he  was 
grown  thin,  and  his  eyes  were  brighter  than  of  ordinary.  For  the 
rest,  he  was  grave,  and  smiled  no  longer  (could  one  ever  forget  the 
sweet  smile  that  always  played  upon  his  lips  and  the  kind  light  that 
lay  in  his  eyes  ?).  He  shed  few  tears  (save  that  at  parting  with 
his  wife  he  gave  one  sob),  because  he  was  so  brave  and  resolute  by 
nature,  and  because,  by  special  grace  of  Heaven,  he  was  enabled  to 
look  upon  the  separation  as  for  a  brief  space  only.  But  he  wept 
bitterly  when  he  parted  from  his  infant  childr€?n,  praying  Heaven 
to  protect  his  boy — then  two  years  old,  and  like  an  angel  for  beauty 
— and  his  infant  daughter.  (The  boy  is  since  dead,  being  killed  by 
an  accident  at  nineteen  years  ;  but  the  girl.  Lady  Anna,  is  not  long 
since  married  to  a  Catholic  Peer,  the  Lord  Petre,  whose  uncle 
married  her  aunt,  my  lord's  sister.  May  she  be  blessed  with  a  long 
life  and  many  children  !) 

On  Thursday  morning  my  lord  received  a  letter  from  the  Vicar 
Apostolic,  which  afforded  him  great  consolation,  although,  to  hear 
some  men  talk  and  to  read  some  things  written,  there  is  nothing  in 
all  that  religion  but  hypocrisy  and  deceits.  As  if  we  are  not  all 
men  and  women — that  is  to  say,  mortal  and  doomed  to  die,  and 
after  death  the  next  world ;  wherefore,  though  I  doubt  not  the 
exceeding  wickedness  and  cruelty  of  many  Popes,  Inquisitors,  and 
Cardinals,  needs  must  that  they,  as  well  as  we  ourselves,  sometimes 
contemplate  soberly  and  with  prayer  the  condition  of  their  souls, 
and  especially  at  the  awful  time  when  death  is  appointed  and  now 
nigh  at  hand.  The  Yicar's  letter,  therefore,  which  I  have  seen — 
and  a  most  beautiful  and  truly  religious  letter  it  is — gave  my  lord 
great  support,  and  even  happiness.  On  that  day  he  confessed,  com- 
municated, and  heard  Mass,  together  with  Lord  Widdrington  ;  for 
several  days  before  his  death  he  steadfastly  fasted,  and  refused  to 
take  any  wine,  although  he  suffered  from  a  grievous  cough.  As  for 
fasting,  that  is  no  doubt  a  help  to  most  of  us  in  spiritual  things,  as 
it  leaves  the  brain  free  from  the  gross  humours  generated  by  strong 
meat,  and  in  a  manner  clears  away  from  the  eyes  the  mists  which 
obscure  our  sight  and  sense  of  heavenly  things. 

*But,'  said  Father  Pippard,  in  that  memorandum  of  his,  ^he 
wanted  none  of  these  helps,  for  he  was  visibly  helped  with  an  extra- 
ordinary grace,  which  appeared  in  his  countenance  and  in  all  his 
behaviour,  to  the  admiration  of  all  that  beheld  him.' 

In  the  evening  before  his  execution  he  sat  up  writing  letters  of 
farewell  to  his  wife,  his  mother,  his  brother  Charles,  and  others. 
In  the  first,  which  the  poor  soul  showed  to  me,  he  said  that  Lord 
Nithsdale  had  escaped.  Alas !  the  news  of  that  escape  fell  upon 
our  hearts  (I  mean  on  mine  especially)  as  a  reproach.    For  we 


288 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


should  have  used  something  of  the  same  way  with  Lord  Derwent- 
water  had  it  not  been  ordered  otherwise.  As  regards  his  brother 
Charles,  it  is  sad  to  relate  that  Lord  Townshend,  Secretary  of  State, 
forbade  his  taking  leave  of  his  brother,  so  great  was  the  rancour 
with  which  these  young  men  were  regarded.  (It  is  very  well  known 
how  Charles  afterwards  escaped  from  Newgate  while  under  sentence 
of  death.  A  few  years  later  he  married  the  Countess  of  Newburgh 
in  her  own  right,  and  hath  children,  so  that  the  noble  line  of  Had- 
cliffe  will  be  continued,  with  another  title  and  rank  equal  to  that 
which  has  been  lost.) 

As  for  what  passed  in  the  Tower  on  the  morning  of  the  execution, 
it  was  related  in  the  conclusion  of  Father  Pippard's  letter.  He  said 
that  he  went  early  to  the  Tower,  not  expecting  to  be  admitted,  but, 
contrary  to  his  expectation,  being  permitted  to  pass  into  the  Earl's 
room,  he  found  Lord  Widdrington  with  him,  and  both  on  their 
knees  at  prayers  ;  but  with  this  difference,  that  Lord  Widdrington 
could  not  read  his  for  the  weeping  and  tears  which  choked  his  voice 
while  Lord  Derwentwater  was  reading  his  aloud,  and  with  a  sedate 
and  audible  voice.  Whereupon  Father  Pippard  at  first,  and  hastily, 
concluded  that  the  latter  had  been  reprieved  and  the  former  sen- 
tenced. But  it  was  the  contrary  :  for  Lord  Widdrington  had  come 
to  tell  his  brother  prisoner  that  he  himself  had  received  a  reprieve 
(the  news  was  not  brought  to  him  until  eight  o'clock  that  morning), 
and  he  was  weeping  to  see  the  constancy,  resignation,  and  Christian 
grace  displayed  by  his  brother-in-arms,  who  was  to  suffer  what  he 
himself  escaped. 

Presently  word  was  brought  that  the  coaches  were  come  for  the 
two  who  were  to  be  executed.  Wherefore  Father  Pippard  begged 
Lord  Widdrington  to  say  anything  he  had  to  say  as  quickly  as  he 
could.  But  all  he  had  to  say  was,  with  many  tears,  that  if  he  were 
to  live  a  thousand  years  he  should  never  forget  the  courage  and 
resignation  which  he  that  day  witnessed.  So  he  went  away,  and 
Lord  Derwentwater  betook  himself  to  confession  and  prayers  ; 
which  done,  he  walked  down  to  the  coach,  even  the  keepers,  buf- 
f  etiers,  and  guards — yea,  and  the  common  soldiers,  being  dissolved 
in  tears,  and  he  alone  preserving  a  calm  and  composed  countenance. 

My  lord  was  dressed  becomingly  in  black  velvet,  wearing  a  beaver 
hat  with  a  black  plume,  black  hose,  and  black  leather  shoes  with 
silver  buckles.  Round  his  neck  was  hanging  a  gold  crucifix,  and  in 
his  hand  he  carried  a  book  of  devotion.  Before  reaching  the  scaf- 
fold he  was  joined  by  the  Vicar  Apostolic.  Then,  I  suppose  for 
form's  sake,  he  was  again  offered  his  life  if  he  would  renounce  his 
faith  and  his  loyalty ;  but  he  pub  the  offer  by  gravely,  saying  that  it 
would  be  too  dear  a  purchase. 

When  they  came  to  the  City  Bars  the  sheriffs  informed  him  that 
they  had  prepared  a  room  for  him  near  the  scaffold,  in  case  he  de- 
sired to  retire  for  a  time.  He  thanked  them,  and  accepted  their 
offer,  spending  half  an  hour  with  the  priests  in  prayer.  Lord 
Kenmure,  who  was  accompanied  by  his  eldest  son,  joined  him  in 
this  dismal  chamber. 


MY  LORDS  LAST  DA  YS. 


289 


Then  came  the  last  scene — the  shedding  of  that  noble  blood  and 
the  flight  of  that  sweet  soul  to  heaven.  Even  if  the  Romish  doc- 
trine of  Purgatory  were  true,  of  which  we  have  no  Scriptural 
warrant  (though  the  thought  must  be  consoling  to  many  a  poor 
mother  whose  son  has  been  cut  off  in  open  sin),  I  cannot  but  be- 
lieve that  the  sacrifice  of  a  life  thus  laid  down  as  a  voluntary  offer- 
ing, according  to  the  teaching  of  the  priests,  and  with  many  heart- 
felt prayers,  must  have  been  received,  and  that  Lord  Derwentwater's 
soul  is  now  at  peace  and  in  happiness  among  the  blessed. 

Mr.  Hilyardwas  among  those  who  stood  on  Tower  Hill  to  seethe 
sad  sight.  I  believe  that  the  people  of  London  take  a  peculiar 
pleasure  in  witnessing  spectacles  the  thought  of  which  fills  one's 
heart  with  horror,  so  that  whether  it  be  a  wretch  in  a  pillory,  or  a 
hussy  being  whipped  before  an  alderman,  or  a  rogue  flogged  at  a 
cart-tail,  or  a  hanging  at  Tyburn,  or  a  beheading  on  Tower  Hill, 
they  cannot  choose  but  sally  forth  and  stand  in  thousands — yea,  and 
for  hours  together,  so  eager  are  they  to  behold  the  deportment  and 
carriage  of  the  sufferer,  comparing  him  with  others,  his  predecessors, 
applauding  or  reproving,  according  to  his  courage  or  his  cowardice. 
Mr.  Hilyard,  whatever  else  he  might  be,  was  always  a  Londoner. 
Something  of  the  same  temper,  I  suppose,  was  possessed  by  the 
Athenians,  who  were  always  running  after  some  new  thing. 

'  There  was  never,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  so  great  a  crowd  of  people 
gathered  together  on  Tower  Hill  ;  men  were  there  of  every  condi- 
tion, with  fine  ladies  in  the  windows  ;  and  though  many  thought 
that  the  punishment  was  just,  there  were  none  (of  those  who  stood 
around  me)  but  thought  it  excessive.  For  why,  all  men  asked, 
were  Lord  Derwentwater  and  Lord  Kenmure  condemned,  and  the 
rest  reprieved  ?  What  had  these  two  done  worse  than  those  who 
were  with  them  ?  Why  was  not  Lord  Widdrington,  who  was  older, 
and  should  have  been  wiser,  with  them  ?  Such  questions  passed 
from  one  to  the  other,  not  in  whispers,  but  loudly,  so  that  I  think 
the  character  of  the  King  will  hardly  gain,  whatever  may  be  the 
effect  of  these  punishments  in  the  north.  Truly,  as  is  said  by 
Solomon,  "  Mercy  and  truth  preserve  the  king  :  and  his  throne  is 
upholden  by  mercy." 

'  The  crowd  began  at  daybreak,  even  before  ;  nay,  there  were 
persons  who  came  on  the  night  before,  and  made  fires  on  Tower 
Hill  to  warm  them  by,  for  the  night  was  very  cold.  There  was 
some  idle  talk  about  a  rescue,  and  of  destroying  the  scaffold  ;  but 
that  passed  away,  and,  indeed,  the  Jacobites  in  these  days  have  to 
keep  snug.  Yet  they  were  on  Tower  Hill  by  hundreds,  and  were 
cursing  the  Hanoverian  in  whispers,  and  shedding  tears  for  the  two 
lords  long  before  the  time  for  the  execution. 

*  I  first  saw  my  lord  when  he  came  forth  from  the  chamber  which 
the  sheriffs  caused  to  be  made  for  him.  Sir  John  Fryer  went  before 
him.  After  him  came  two  Popish  priests  and  a  great  company, 
though  who  they  were  I  know  not.  When  he  mounted  the  steps 
and  stood  upon  the  black  scaffold  before  all  the  people,  his  face  was 
pale,  but  his  eye  was  steady.    To  my  thinking  he  looked  upon  the 


2  go 


DORO THY  FORSTER. 


great  multitude  mucli  as,  in  the  persecution  of  Diocletian,  a  Chris- 
tian martyr  may  have  looked  upon  the  gaping  crowds  assembled  to 
see  him  die,  and  to  wonder  why  he  could  not  save  his  life  by  a 
pinch  of  incense.  Then  a  silence  fell  upon  all,  save  for  the  sobs  of 
some  and  the  muttered  prayers  of  others,  so  that  you  would  have 
thought  yourself  in  some  great  church  ' 

A  church,  indeed  !  For  such  an  occasion  the  Tower  Hill  was 
nothing  but  the  temple  of  the  living  God,  and  the  scaffold  was  an 
altar  of  sacrifice,  and  my  lord  a  true  martyr  and  confessor  of  his 
faith  and  loyalty. 

*  He  spoke  a  few  words  to  Sir  J ohn  Fryer,  and  then,  kneeling 
down  before  us  all,  prayed  for  a  good  while.  But  none  of  the 
crowd  spake  or  moved,  and  I  saw  the  tears  running  down  all  cheeks. 
This  done,  he  rose  and  spoke  earnestly  for  a  minute  or  two  with 
one  of  the  sheriffs,  and  taking  a  paper  from  his  pocket,  unfolded  it, 
and  read  in  a  steady,  loud  voice,  so  that  all  might  hear,  his  last 
dying  speech  and  confession.  Confession,  I  call  it,  because  he  con- 
fessed and  declared  manfully  that  he  owned  allegiance  to  none  but 
the  Prince,  his  lawful  King  ;  and  if  it  seemed  otherwise  by  his  plea 
of  guilty,  he  begged  that  he  might  be  understood  as  not  intending 
to  acknowledge  King  George  as  his  lawful  Sovereign.  Why,  it 
seems  to  me,  so  noble  and  so  manful  was  his  speech,  that  were 
there  in  this  realm  but  half-a-dozen  like  unto  him,  so  noble  and  so 
generous,  the  Protestant  Succession  would  be  ruined. 

'  This  done,  he  repeated  a  penitential  Psalm,  and  uttered  audibly 
(many  of  the  people  saying  "  Amen  !"  after  him,  as  if  they  were  in 
church)  certain  ejaculations.  After  this  he  knelt  in  prayer  once 
more,  and  this  time  many  of  the  company  on  the  scaffold — even  the 
executioner  himself — knelt  and  prayed  with  him,  weeping.  He 
then  rose  and  removed  his  wig  and  coat,  which  the  keeper  should 
have  had,  but  the  executioner  claimed  as  his  own  ;  and  there  was 
an  unseemly  dispute,  during  which  my  lord  stood  quiet,  only  whis- 
pering a  few  words  to  one  of  the  priests.  This  settled,  he  examined 
the  block,  and  pointed  out  very  calmly  a  rough  place  which  might 
hurt  his  neck.  That  roughness  the  executioner  made  smooth  with 
his  axe. 

'  After  this,  he  said  in  a  loud  voice,  so  that  all  should  hear  :  "  I 
forgive  all  that  are  concerned  in  my  execution,  and  I  forgive  all 
the  world." 

'According  to  custom,  the  executioner  asked  his  forgiveness. 
Then,  all  being  done,  he  knelt  and  laid  his  head  upon  the  block.  I 
suppose  that  he  gave  certain  instructions  to  the  headsman.  One  of 
the  priests  bent  over  him  and  gave  him,  as  I  understood  the  gesture, 
the  last  absolution  as  to  one  in  articulo  mortis.  Then  he  said  in  a 
loud  voice  :  "  Dear  Jesus,  be  merciful  to  me.    Dear  J esus,  be 

merciful  to  me.    Dear  Jesus  "    Then  fell  the  axe,  and  at  a 

single  blow  the  head  was  severed  from  the  body.' 

Here  Mr.  Hilyard  stopped  in  his  narrative,  and  we  wept  together. 

What  have  any,  of  all  those  who  knew  and  loved  that  gallant 
youth  done  since  but  weep  and  cry  at  the  mere  thought  of  his 


MV  LORiyS  LAST  DAYS. 


295 


noble  death,  and  the  cruel  loss  to  all  ?  Yet  weeping  will  not  bring 
him  back.  Oh !  if  every  tear  shed  that  day  had  been  a  drop  of 
molten  lead,  there  was  one  woman  who  would  have  rejoiced  to  pour 
all  upon  the  head  of  the  hard  and  revengeful  George,  then  called 
King  of  this  realm  !  George  hath  now  gone  to  his  account,  and  I 
hope  that  this  woman  was  Christian  enough  before  he  died  to  pray 
that  this  heavy  sin  might  be  forgiven  him. 

The  Earl's  servant,  Francis  Wilson,  received  the  head  in  a  red 
velvet  cloth,  and  carried  it  away  with  him,  no  one  molesting  him. 
The  body,  no  coffin  or  hearse  having  been  provided,  was  laid  in  a 
hackney  coach,  and  so  taken  to  the  Tower,  where  it  lay  for  three 
days,  when  it  was  taken  away  by  night  to  a  surgeon,  who  embalmed 
it  and  laid  it  in  a  coffin  with  the  head.  The  coffin  was  carried  first 
to  Dagenham  Park,  near  Romford,  where  the  widowed  Countess 
was  residing  for  a  time,  and  thence,  travelling  by  night,  it  was 
taken  to  Dilston,  and  buried  in  his  own  chapel.  His  heart  was 
placed  in  a  casket  and  sent  to  Angers,  where  it  was  given  to  a 
convent  of  English  nuns. 

As  for  the  Prince,  for  whose  sake  this  and  so  many  other  lives 
were  laid  down,  he  had  already  fled  from  Scotland  and  landed  at 
Gravelines  two  days  before  Lord  Derwentwater's  death,  and  I  know 
not  what  were  his  emotions  on  hearing  of  his  early  friend's  tragic 
end.  But  the  Queen-mother  was  deeply  affected.  I  saw  the 
Countess  once  more  before  I  left  London  ;  she  was  then  staying  at 
a  house  in  the  country,  not  far  from  London,  called  Kensington 
Gravel  Pits.  She  was  composed  and  resigned,  but  the  old  vivacity 
was  gone,  and  her  once  bright  eyes  were  dull.  She  confessed  that 
it  was  her  duty  to  live  for  the  children,  but  for  whom  she  would 
have  prayed  for  death.  Sad  it  was  to  see  the  sweet,  fair-haired  boy, 
not  yet  four  years  old,  clinging  to  his  mother's  knee,  wondering 
why  her  eyes  were  always  fiill  of  tears.  They  could  not  take  away 
the  child's  estates,  because  in  them  the  Earl  had  only  a  life-interest ; 
but  he  had  lost  his  title,  though  everyone  always  called  him  the 
Earl.  What  mattered  title  or  estate  if  he  had  not  also  lost  his  father? 
We  talked  very  movingly  together  for  some  hours,  confessing  to 
each  other  that  we  had  done  foolishly  and  ignorantly  (yet  we  be- 
lieved what  we  were  told,  and  what  can  women  do  more  ?)  in  urging 
on  men  who  were  so  full  of  loyalty,  and  yet  hesitated  to  strike, 
being  better  acquainted  than  we  were  with  the  dangers  and  the 
consequences.  Yet  we  agreed  that  the  cause  was  most  just  and 
righteous,  and  must  prosper  in  the  end  if  England  is  to  look  for 
peace  and  Heaven's  blessing.  But  for  a  long  time  there  could  be 
no  hope  of  success  unless  in  the  changed  temper  of  the  people. 

It  was  on  this,  the  last  time  I  saw  her,  that  she  gave  me  the 
precious  gift  of  her  dead  husband,  with  the  words  which  he  wished 
her  to  use.  I  have  already  spoken  of  this  gift.  So  we  parted,  with 
kisses  and  more  tears,  and  I  saw  the  poor  distracted  creature  no 
moie. 


19—2 


292 


DOROTHY  FORSTER 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

tom's  escape. 

All  the  story  whicli  I  set  myself  to  tell  has  now  been  writien  down, 
except  only  the  manner  and  way  of  Tom's  escape  from  Newgate, 
which  was  as  follows.  We  were  not  neglecting  his  affairs  all  the 
while  ;  and  Mr.  Hilyard,  as  I  have  said,  had  found  an  honest  sea 
captain.  The  man  who  was  recommended  to  him  was  a  certain 
smuggler  or  fisherman,  named  Shipman — a  good  name  for  one  in 
his  profession — who  had  a  fast-sailing  schooner  or  hoy,  in  which  he 
carried  on  his  trade.  We  were  assured  that  we  could  thoroughly 
trust  this  man,  and  that,  whether  for  carrying  a  cargo  of  Nantz,  or 
parcel  of  lace,  or  a  Jacobite  gentleman,  or  a  highwayman,  or  a  Jesuit 
priest,  or  any  other  secret  commodity,  backwards  or  forwards  across 
the  water,  the  man  had  not  his  equal,  whether  for  safety,  secrecy,  or 
despatch.  His  terms  were  high  ;  but  then,  in  such  times,  one  must 
pay  for  honesty.  Thus,  we  were  to  give  him  fifty  guineas  for  land- 
ing Tom  upon  the  coast  of  France  ;  but  he  knew  beforehand  that 
he  had  to  do  with  a  prisoner  of  distinction,  for  whose  capture  a 
much  larger  sum.  than  fifty  guineas  would  be  offered.  Surely  a  man 
who  takes  fifty  guineas,  and  keeps  his  word,  when  treachery  would 
have  given  him  a  thousand  pounds,  is  worth  waiting  for. 

We  waited  for  him,  therefore,  until  the  end  of  February,  when 
Mr.  Hilyard  found  him,  opened  negotiations,  and  presently  took  me 
to  meet  him  at  a  place  called  Limehouse.  In  appearance  he  was 
quite  another  guess  kind  of  fellow  from  the  other,  the  Judas  Iscariot 
captain  of  Wapping,  having  a  rough  and  honest  face,  with  clear  eyes, 
which  looked  straight.  We  soon  came  to  terms.  He  declared  that 
he  could  not  afford  to  take  less  than  fifty  guineas  for  the  trip  ;  that 
times  like  these  were  brisk  for  honest  sailors  like  himself,  who 
troubled  not  themselves  about  party  matters,  and  cared  not  a  sour 
herring  which  was  King  and  which  Pretender  ;  and  that  he  must 
make  the  best  of  his  market.  He  then  gave  us  to  understand  that 
the  gentleman  (whose  name  he  knew  not,  and  said  he  desired  not  to 
know,  nor  why  he  wished  to  leave  his  native  shores)  would  not  be 
the  first  by  a  great  many  whom  he  had  carried  across  to  France,  and 
not  one  caught  yet.  For  his  own  part,  the  more  the  merrier,  and  all 
the  better  for  his  old  woman  and  the  children  :  and  he  should  not 
care  if  the  Pretender's  friends  had  a  rising  every  month,  nor  if  he 
was  asked  to  carry  King  George  himself  and  the  Prince  of  Wales 
across  to  Holland  out  of  the  way.  The  fellow  was  so  hearty,  aud 
had  so  honest  a  face,  that  one  could  not  choose  but  trust  him. 
Therefore  I  agreed,  and  instructed  Mr.  Hilyard  to  make  all  other 
arrangements  with  him,  as  that  he  was  not  to  have  his  money  till 
his  passenger  was  on  board  and  the  ship  ready  to  drop  down  stream ; 
that  he  was  to  be  anchored  off  Leigh,  in  Essex,  so  as  to  avoid 
suspicion  ;  and  that  he  was,  as  soon  as  he  had  his  schooner  ready  for 
sailing,  to  come  to  London,  there  to  be  at  our  service. 

This  done,  I  began  to  clench  the  business  with  my  friendly 


TOM'S  ESCAPE. 


turnkey.  Nota  hene  that,  all  through  these  troubles  of  Frmk 
Radcliffe's  illness  and  my  lord's  execution,  either  Mr.  Hilyard  or 
myself  went  daily  to  Newgate  to  cheer  and  encourage  Tom,  whose 
courage  was  now,  what  with  the  backsliding  of  his  chaplain  and  the 
fate  of  Lord  Derwentwater,  as  one  may  say,  sunk  down  into  his 
boots,  almost  beyond  the  power  of  a  bottle  to  lift  it  up,  nor  did  he 
derive  any  satisfaction  sav^e  from  his  continual  cursing  of  Mr. 
Patten.  We  were  so  careful  lest  he  should  in  his  cups  say  a  word 
which  might  cause  suspicion,  that  we  told  him  nothing  of  our  design. 

Now,  however,  that  we  had  secured  our  ship,  it  was  necessary, 
without  further  delay,  to  open  the  business  more  fully  with  my 
friendly  warden,  Jonas.  If  he  failed,  but  not  unless,  Mr.  Hilyard 
should  go  to  the  honest  Pitts,  the  Governor,  and  promise  that  greedy 
rogue  all  he  asked.  Therefore  I  went  to  the  prison,  where  the 
worthy  J onas  sat  in  the  lobby  or  anteroom  ;  but,  instead  of  going 
straight  through,  I  stopped,  and  pulling  out  my  handkerchief,  began 
to  cry  and  to  wipe  my  eyes. 

*  Alas  !'  I  said,  '  the  trials  must  soon  come  on.  Think  you,  good 
J  onas,  that  my  brother's  case  will  be  the  first  ?' 

'  That,  your  ladyship,'  he  replied,  jingling  his  keys,  *  is  more  than 
we  wardens  know.  First  or  last  matters  little,  considering  what  the 
end  must  be.' 

*Lady  Nithsdale,'  I  went  on — ^ah!  happy  woman! — is  said  to 
have  found  a  friend  and  helper  among  the  guards  of  the  Tower. 
But  then,  the  Tower  is  not  Newgate.' 

*  Belike  she  did,'  he  replied.  *  Friends  can  always  be  found,  even 
in  Newgate,  by  the  unhappy,  if  they  go  the  right  way  to  work.' 

'  Ah !'  I  whispered,  ^  would  to  Heaven  that  I  could  find  such  a 
compassionate  heart  in  Newgate,  and  how  richly  would  I  reward 
him  !'  I  observed  that  his  eyes  twinkled  and  his  fingers  clutched  as 
though  already  grasping  the  reward. 

'  Why,'  he  said,  '  as  for  that,  and  if  it  could  be  done  without  Mr. 
Pitts'  knowledge,  and  was  made  well  worth  a  body's  while  ' 

'  What  do  you  call,  Mr.  J  onas,  worth  a  body's  while  ?' 

*  Why,  to  be  plain,  madam,'  he  said,  '  do  you  think  I  did  not  know 
your  tricks  and  your  ways  when  you  began  with  your  soft  looks  and 
your  guinea  here  and  your  half  a  guinea  there,  what  it  meant  ? 
Let  us  come  to  business  without  further  shilly-shally.  What  is  it 
you  want  me  to  do,  and  for  how  much  ?' 

*  As  for  what  I  want  you  to  do,'  I  replied,  '  it  is  simple  and  easy, 
and  I  will  tell  you  presently  ;  as  for  the  reward,  you  shall  have 
something  in  hand — say  ten  guineas  ;  but  until  General  Forster  is 
safe  across  the  water,  not  a  penny  more.' 

*  I  cannot  send  him  across  the  water.  But  still — ^how  much  will 
your  ladyship  offer  ?' 

*  Why — shall  I  say  fifty  guineas  ?' 
He  laughed  in  my  face. 

*  Fifty  guineas  !  Why,  he  was  the  General  of  the  Forces  and  he 
is  a  Member  of  Parliament !  Fifty  guineas  for  the  Man  under  the 
Rose  ?   Sure,  madam,  you  seem  to  understand  very  little  what  your 


294 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


brother  is  worth  in  such  a  market  as  this.  Fifty  guineas  ?  Well,  if 
that  is  all,  there  is  an  end.' 

I  informed  him  that  General  Forster  was  not  like  Lord  Nithsdale, 
a  man  of  a  great  estate,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  that  his  estates  had 
been  all  sold  up,  so  that  he  had  nothing  at  all  but  what  he  would 
get  at  the  death  of  his  father.  But  he  stiffly  refused  to  do  business, 
as  he  called  it,  on  sucli  shabby  terms,  and  I  was  forced  to  raise  my 
price.  He  was  truly  a  most  exorbitant  creature,  and  refused  to  do 
anything  until  I  gave  him  fifty  guineas  down,  and  an  offer  in  writing 
to  give  him  four  hundred  and  fifty  guineas  more  on  my  brother's 
escape  being  assured.  The  fellow  had  some  education,  it  seems,  and 
could  read  and  write.  I  think  he  had  been  a  kind  of  lawyer's  clerk, 
who  had  been  put  into  this  place  in  return  for  some  services.  '  If,' 
he  said,  *  you  make  me  the  offer,  I  can  put  it  into  Mr.  Pitts'  hands 
should  you  play  me  false.  Go  away  then,  madam,  and  write  it  down, 
and  bring  the  fifty  pounds  before  we  have  any  more  dealings  or 
talk.' 

*  But  if,'  I  said,  ^  you  play  me  false,  and,  after  taking  the  fifty 
pounds,  do  not  go  on  with  the  business  ?' 

'  Five  hundred  guineas,'  he  replied,  '  though  little  enough  reward 
for  the  escape  of  the  General  and  the  risk  I  run,  is  a  mighty  great 
sum  for  me.    Your  ladyship  need  not  fear.' 

I  went  away  therefore,  and  presently  wrote  on  a  piece  of  paper 
words  which  might  have  brought  me  to  prison  too,  if  this  fellow 
showed  them.  For  I  said  that  I,  Dorothy  Forster,  sister  of  General 
Forster,  then  in  Newgate  Gaol,  solemnly  pledged  myself  to  give  one 
Jonas,  warden  or  turnkey  in  the  said  gaol,  the  sum  of  four  hundred 
and  fifty  guineas  sterling  as  soon  as  the  said  General  Forster  was 
out  of  the  gaol. 

Next  I  sought  my  friend  Purdy,  the  blacksmith,  where  I  lodged, 
and  told  him  that  I  wanted  his  services,  but  secretly,  and  without  a 
word  said  to  his  wife,  or  his  prentices,  or  any  living  soul.  He 
swore  very  readily  to  the  greatest  silence  on  the  matter.  Then  I 
asked  him  whether,  in  case  I  put  into  his  hand  an  impression  in  wax 
of  a  key,  he  would  make  me  its  counterpart  in  iron.  He  smiled, 
guessing  very  easily  what  I  designed,  and  said  that  such  an  imita- 
tion was  a  thing  belonging  to  his  trade,  and  that  he  would  under- 
take to  make  me  such  a  key  in  a  very  little  while,  and  nobody  to 
guess  or  suspect  a  word  of  the  matter. 

I  lost  no  time  at  all,  but  went  back  to  the  prison,  found  the 
worthy  Mr.  Jonas,  who  was  waiting  for  me,  and  gave  him  the 
earnest-money  which  he  asked — namely,  fifty  guineas  in  a  purse. 

^  So,'  he  said,  '  this  is  business.  And  what  next  can  I  do  to  please 
your  ladyship  ?' 

I  told  him  that  I  wanted  an  impression  in  wax  of  the  master-key, 
which  for  the  moment  was  all  I  would  ask  of  him.  This  he  made 
for  me,  and  gave  me  very  readily,  only  imploring  that,  should  the 
possession  of  this  be  discovered,  or  the  plot  be  prevented  by  any 
untoward  misfortune,  it  should  never  be  divulged  how  I  got  the 
key.    And  again  he  threaten  3d,  if  the  money  was  not  paid  after  Mr, 


TOM'S  ESCAPE. 


^95 


Forster's  escape,  to  put  my  paper  in  the  hands  of  a  justice,  by  which 
he  said,  I  know  not  how  truthfully,  he  could  ensure  my  being  put 
to  death  with  all  the  barbarities  proper  for  the  crime. 

In  this  simple  method,  without  troubling  Mr.  Hilyard  to  com- 
plete his  grand  plot,  and  without  any  regard  to  what  he  called  the 
dramatic  situation,  I  obtained  that  most  invaluable  aid  to  an  escape, 
a  master-key. 

Now,  it  was  hard  to  keep  my  counsel  during  this  time,  for  on 
the  one  hand  I  had  to  restrain  the  impatience  of  Mr.  Hilyard,  who 
would  still  be  urging  me  to  let  him  follow  up  the  overtures  he  had 
made  to  Mr.  Pitts,  who  indeed  expected  it,  for  his  own  part,  and, 
the  sum  of  £10,000  having  been  mentioned  between  them,  began 
to  throw  out  hints  not  only  to  Mr.  Hilyard  but  to  myself,  so  that  I 
was  obliged  to  let  him  be  plainly  told  that  for  the  present  at  least 
nothing  could  be  done.  When  I  consider  the  number  of  escapes 
that  were  made  from  Newgate,  I  am  amazed  that  the  man  and  his 
wardens  and  assistants  were  not  brought  to  justice.  Perhaps,  how- 
ever, the  Ministry  were  not  unwilling  that  the  prisoners  should  es- 
cape. Lady  Cowper  told  me,  after  all  was  done,  that  she  had  a 
strange  offer  before  they  were  all  brought  up  to  London — that 
General  Forster  should  be  allowed  to  escape,  if  she  pleased,  upon 
the  road.  It  came  to  her  from  Baron  Bernstof t,  through  Made- 
moiselle Schutz,  his  niece.  She  told  me  further  that  at  the  time 
she  was  concerned  chiefly  about  Mr.  Clavering  and  his  son,  so  that 
she  did  not  heed  the  offer.  But  this  explained  why  at  the  first  she 
spoke  so  much  about  neglecting  the  chances  of  getting  off  while  on 
the  road.  It  rejoices  me  to  think  that  so  many  brave  fellows  got 
clean  away,  but  surely  a  generous  King  would  have  given  them 
their  pardon  rather  than  suffer  them  to  get  off  by  this  ignominious 
way  of  bribing  a  gaoler. 

But  while  the  greedy  Mr.  Pitts  (who  I  suppose  prays  for  such 
another  rebellion  every  day)  looked  for  no  less  a  sum  than  £10,000, 
he  knew  not  that  his  turnkey  had  been  beforehand  with  him,  and 
his  most  important  prisoner  was  on  the  point  of  escaping  and  he 
never  a  penny  the  richer.  It  gives  me  the  greatest  satisfaction  to 
think  how  this  great  rogue  was  outwitted,  and  of  his  discomfiture 
and  rage  when  he  found  the  bird  was  flown.  I  would  have  cheated 
the  turnkey  as  well,  but  could  not,  having  pledged  my  word. 

It  was  not  until  the  morning  of  March  the  6th,  ten  days  after  my 
lord  was  butchered,  that  Mr.  Hilyard  reported  to  me  first  that  our 
skipper  was  now  in  London,  having  left  his  vessel  off  the  coast  at 
Leigh  ;  next,  that  he  had  bought  four  strong  and  capable  saddle- 
horses,  which  were  now  standing  in  the.  stables  of  the  Salutation 
Tavern,  Newgate  Street,  and  could  be  saddled  in  readiness  for  any 
time. 

*  And  now,'  he  said,  '  for  Heaven's  sake,  Miss  Dorothy,  delay  no 
longer.    Let  me  see  Mr.  Pitts  and  close  with  him  this  very  day.' 

*  To-morrow  you  shall,'  I  replied,  '  unless         but  first,  oh  !  my 

only  friend  !  first,  I  pray  thee,  do  exactly  as  I  bid  for  this  day.  To- 
morrow, if  If  ail,  which  kind  Heaven  forbid,  you  shall  have  your  turn.' 


296 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


He  begged  me  to  give  him  his  instructions. 

I  told  him,  first,  that  the  day  was  actually  come,  and  my  own 
preparations  made  ;  that  nothing  could  be  done  until  after  dark, 
nor  then  until  such  time  as  the  streets  were  clear  of  people  ;  that  in 
my  judgment  it  would  be  at  some  time  between  nine  in  the  evening 
and  midnight  that  we  should  want  the  horses.  Therefore  that  the 
skipper  should  have  them  saddled  in  readiness,  and  should  wait  in 
the  stables  from  eight  o'clock  or  so  until  we  came  for  him,  and  for 
the  love  of  the  Lord  not  to  get  drunk. 

Mr.  Hilyard  opened  his  eyes  very  wide  at  this,  as  you  may  be- 
lieve, and  looked  grave,  but  forbore  to  speak,  except  to  promise 
that  he  would  most  faithfully  and  strictly  carry  out  my  instructions, 
and  so  departed,  leaving  me  anxious  indeed,  but  now  hopeful. 

What  I  had  was  a  master-key  ;  what  I  wanted  was  the  oppor- 
tunity of  using  it  without  being  observed.  That  chance  must  be 
sought  after  dark,  and  pretty  late,  when  prisoners  are  all  locked  up 
and  turnkeys  and  wardens  off  guard. 

Then  I  went  back  to  the  prison,  where  I  found  Tom  sitting  in 
his  chamber,  but  not  alone.  Alas  !  how  different  was  the  behaviour 
of  the  prisoners  in  Newgate  from  that  of  my  lord  in  the  Tower  ! 
There  was  dignity,  with  the  virtues  of  repentance,  faith,  and  charity. 
Here  there  was  constant  drinking,  with  the  smoking  of  tobacco,  and 
everlasting  railing,  quarrelling,  and  disputing,  one  prisoner  with 
another.  But  I  will  speak  no  more  of  the  Press  Yard  and  its  horrid 
sights. 

There  was  a  custom  of  visiting  the  prisoners,  bringing  them  pre- 
sents of  wine,  spirits,  tobacco,  meat,  and  so  forth  ;  and,  as  regards 
the  better  sort,  talking  with  them,  many  gentlemen  finding  it  a 
curious  entertainment  to  pass  the  afternoon  conversing  with  a  man 
who  would  probably  in  a  few  weeks  have  his  head  and  limbs  plas- 
tered with  pitch  and  stuck  upon  Temple  Bar ;  it  was  interesting, 
no  doubt,  to  think  that  the  man  who  sat  with  them  was  also  going 
to  be  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered.  As  for  themselves,  they  were 
honest  Jacobites  all,  who  were  yet  in  no  mood  for  undergoing  that 
penalty  ;  they  were  quite  ready  to  sing  loyal  songs  in  a  tavern, 
applaud  loyal  lines  in  a  theatre,  drink  loyal  toasts,  frequent  loyal 
coffee-houses,  and,  in  fact,  give  the  Prince  every  support  short  of 
fighting.  With  Tom  there  were  sitting  three  of  these  gentlemen, 
not  prisoners^  though  for  the  principles  they  professed,  and  the 
encouragement  they  had  always  given  to  the  fighting  men  of  the 
cause,  they  ought  all  to  have  been  under  lock  and  key  if  there  were 
any  justice  in  the  world  (but  of  that  there  seems  mighty  little). 
As  for  Tom  himself,  it  was  pitiful  to  see  a  man  so  pulled  down  by 
confinement,  and  trouble,  and  want  of  exercise  ;  for  his  ruddy 
cheeks  were  pale  and  flabby  ;  his  once  fresh  bright  eye  was  yellow  ; 
his  hands  shook,  and  so  did  his  lip,  and  his  eyes  were  full  of  anxiety. 
He  sat  in  the  midst  of  his  comforters  as  Job  sat  in  the  midst  of 
Eliphaz,  Bildad,  and  Zophar.  And,  like  these  three  sons  of  Conso- 
lation, who  showed  their  friendliness  by  girding  at  the  patriarch 
and  imputing  unto  him  secret  sins,  so  did  these  three  worthy  gen- 


TOM'S  ESCAPE. 


tlemen,  each  with  a  pipe  of  tobacco  in  his  mouth,  and  happy  in  the 
consciousness  that  his  own  neck  stood  in  little  fear  of  being  stretched, 
dehver  their  minds  at  large  on  the  mistakes  made  by  the  English 
forces  in  the  campaign  (which,  to  be  sure,  was  an  easy  thing  to  do), 
and  discoursed  freely  (which  was  not  a  kind  thing  to  do  towards  a 
gentleman  in  Tom's  position)  on  the  executions  at  Liverpool  and 
Preston,  the  bloodthirsty  temper  of  the  Government,  the  miserable 
outlook  of  the  unfortunate  prisoners,  and  the  cruelty  and  barbarity 
of  the  punishment  inflicted.  Lord  Wintoun's  case,  they  said,  would 
occupy  the  Earls  for  some  weeks  yet,  after  which,  no  doubt,  Tom 
would  be  put  upon  his  trial.  Then  they  began  to  advise,  all  with 
contrary  opinions,  what  kind  of  defence  he  should  set  up.  Defence 
there  was  none,  because,  first  of  all,  Tom  was,  more  than  any  of 
the  others,  except  Colonel  Oxbrough  and  Captain  Gascoigne,  in- 
volved in  the  designs  hatched  in  London  (which,  if  they  had  been 
carried  out,  would  have  set  all  England  in  a  flame)  :  next,  he  had 
been  the  first  to  proclaim  the  Prince  ;  and  then  he  had  actually 
been  General  of  the  English  Forces.  What  could  he  plead  in  ex- 
tenuation of  these  crimes  ? 

'  Gentlemen,'  I  said  presently,  because  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  they 
were  about  to  argue  the  case  and  conduct  the  whole  trial  to  its 
gloomy  end,  which  would  take  all  the  day — '  Gentlemen,  let  me  say 
that  my  brother's  case  will  not  be  bettered  by  our  talking  about  it 
beforehand.  If  on  reflection  you  have  any  counsel  which  may 
serve  us  in  this  juncture,  pray  bestow  it  upon  us,  but  'tis  idle  to 
advise  with  a  man  upon  trial  for  his  life  unless  you  have  something 
that  may  help.  So,  if  you  please,  gentlemen,  and  as  my  brother 
hath  important  affairs  with  me  this  day,  I  will  ask  you  to  leave  him 
now  and  kindly  come  again  to-morrow.' 

'Nay,'  protested  Tom — being,  like  most  men,  dull  at  seeing  more 
than  plain  words  mean — '  nay,  my  affairs  may  wait  a  day,  Dorothy. 
Wherefore,  let  us  send  for  a  tankard  and  ' 

'  By  your  leave,  brother,'  I  said,  '  I  have  letters  from  the  north 
which  may  not  be  delayed.' 

I  spoke  so  earnestly  that  the  three  gentlemen  rose,  and,  with 
many  promises  to  come  again  soon  and  comfort  the  prisoner, 
retired. 

'Now,  Dorothy,'  cried  Tom  testily,  'what  the  devil  is  this 
wonderful  business  ?  Cannot  a  man  have  a  single  half-hour  with 
his  friends  ?' 

'  Friends  !  Yes,  Tom,  they  are  valuable  and  worthy  friends, 
indeed,  who  egg  on  their  companions  to  peril  their  lives  and  sit 
down  themselves.  I  warrant  you  they  drink  the  Prince's  health 
every  day.  Oh,  Tom !  what  said  my  f  athdf  ?  That  he  gets  best 
out  of  the  fray  who  goes  in  last.  What  said  my  lady  ?  Nay,  T 
reproach  you  not,  Tom.  You  shall  never  say  that  I  reproached 
you.  But — friends  you  call  them  ?  Cowardly  betrayers  of  brave 
men,  I  call  them.  Colonel  Oxbrough,  at  least,  and  Captain 
Gascoigne  cast  in  their  lot  with  us,  even  though  they  deceived  us 
all.    But  this  coffee-house  loyalty  !    Why,  they  would  like  nothing 


298 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


better  than  to  sit  together  of  an  evening,  and  tell  how  they  went  to 
sec  you  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered,  and  how  you  looked  the 
while.  And,  oh  !  the  pity  of  it !  And  what  a  gallant  fellow  was 
there  !    And  so  another  pipe.' 

'  Why,  Dorothy,'  said  Tom — but  he  shivered  at  mention  of  the 
word  '  hanging ' — '  what  ails  the  lass  to-day  ?  Your  colour  comes 
and  goes,  and  vfhy  are  you  crying  ?' 

'  I  am  crying,  Tom,'  I  said,  because,  in  truth,  there  were  tears 
and  catchings  of  the  breath,  those  outward  signs  of  woman's  weak- 
ness and  her  agitation — 'lam  crying,  Tom,  because  I  think  that 
you  have  done  with  such  false  friends  for  ever.' 

'  Devil  take  me,'  he  said,  dropping  into  his  chair,  *  if  I  know  what 
she  means !' 

'  You  shall  soon  know.'  With  this  I  lugged  out  my  key.  ^  This, 
Toni,'  I  whispered,  'is  nothing  less  than  the  master-key.  With 
this  in  your  hand  you  can  walk  out  whenever  you  please,  that  is, 
whenever  you  are  not  likely  to  be  seen  and  followed.' 

He  took  the  key  from  me,  and  looked  at  it  as  one  might  look  at 
a  strange  monster. 

'  The  master-key,'  he  murmured.  '  Why,  then — I  may  cheat  the 
gibbet  yet.' 

'  Oh  !  Tom,'  I  seized  him  by  the  hand,  '  if  ever  there  was  an 
occasion  for  prudence,  it  is  this.  Keep  sober  this  evening  if  ever 
you  want  to  drink  again.  Your  chance,  very  likely  your  only 
chance,  is  to-night.' 

I  then  told  him  that  I  had  secured  him  a  passage  by  an  unsus- 
pected ship  ;  that  we  had  got  horses  ready,  which  should  be  waiting 
at  the  stables  of  the  Salutation  Tavern,  a  short  distance  from  the 
prison,  that  night  ;  that  I  would  be  either  outside  the  prison-gates 
or  with  the  horses. 

'Dorothy,'  he  cried,  changing  countenance,  'is  this  thine  own 
doing,  child  ?' 

He  took  me  in  his  arms  and  kissed  me,  shedding  tears,  and 
declaring  that  he  was  not  worth  the  trouble  that  he  caused  the  best 
of  sisters,  as  he  chose  to  call  me.  But  I  would  have  no  time  wasted 
in  such  tenderness. 

'  Think,  Tom,'  I  said  ;  '  you  have  to  make  your  opportunity. 
Will  you  wait  until  the  Governor  is  abed  and  asleep  ?' 

'  Nay,'  he  said,  '  there  is  also  his  man  sits  within  the  door  all 
night.    There  must  be  another  way.' 

I  had  not  thought  of  the  Governor's  man.  Yet  I  ought  to  have 
known  that  the  Governor  would  not  be  left  alone  in  his  own  house. 
Here  was  another  and  an  unforeseen  difficulty. 

'  It  is  the  fellow  they  call  Jonas,'  said  Tom. 

'  Jonas  ?'  I  asked.    '  Then  we  shall  have  no  trouble  with  him.' 

So  I  told  Tom  all,  and  how  I  had  got  the  key. 

'  Come,'  he  said,  'I  think  I  see  a  way,  but  we  must  tell  my  man, 
Thomas  Lee.  Thy  brother,  Dorothy,  hath  been  truly  a  great  fool : 
but  he  has  some  mother-wit  left.' 

So  we  talked  very  earnestly  for  half  an  hour  ;  and  when  I  went 


TOM'S  ESCAPE. 


299 


out  I  found  Jonas  in  tlie  lobby,  and  told  him  what  he  was  to  do  if 
necessary.    Then,  all  being  arranged,  I  came  away. 

He  who  hath  never  contrived  a  plot  cannot  know  the  difficulties 
of  carrying  it  through.  It  was  to  be,  first  of  all,  my  own  design, 
confided  to  none  but  Tom,  and  to  him  only  at  the  last  moment ;  to 
Mr.  Hilyard,  and  to  him  only  in  part :  yet  there  were  besides,  the 
captain,  the  turnkey,  my  brother's  servant  Tom  Lee,  and  the  black- 
smith who  made  the  key.  Any  one  of  these  was  enough  to  spoil 
all.  Truly,  those  who  deal  in  conspiracies  must  go  for  ever  in  fear 
and  trembling,  every  man  concerned  knowing  that  he  can  purchase 
a  pardon  by  revealing  the  names  of  his  associates. 

In  early  March  the  days  begin  to  lengthen.  The  sun  is  twelve 
hours  in  the  sky.  We  should  have  six  hours  at  least  of  darkness 
before  us,  supposing  that  it  was  eleven  of  the  clock  before  Tom 
found  his  way  out.    There  was  nothing  meantime  that  I  could  do. 

Then  I  sat  down  in  my  lodging  and  endeavoured  to  pass  the  time 
chiefly  in  prayer,  hut  who  can  pray  except  in  ejaculations  at  such  a 
juncture  ?  This  night  would  Tom  be  in  safety,  or  else — presently 
the  gibbet,  and  his  head  on  Temple  Bar.  Surely  I  thought,  there 
must  be  some  doom  upon  the  Forsters,  so  many  misfortunes  having 
happened  to  them  ;  out  of  nine  children  not  one  left  living,  though 
the  eldest  would  not  now  be  more  than  fifty-five  ;  the  great  Bam- 
borough  inheritance  lost  and  sold  ;  the  heir  now  lying  (like  to  be 
hanged)  in  Newgate,  and  his  sister  hoping  only  to  secure  his  life  by 
a  timely  flight. 

Oh !  long  and  weary  hours,  when  one  is  waiting  to  learn  the 
issue  !  My  landlady,  a  good  soul,  though  a  Nonconformist  and  a 
Whig,  came  to  ask  what  she  could  do  for  me.  I  told  her  a  false- 
hood ;  I  said  that  I  was  going  to  my  Lady  Cowper,  and  should 
perhaps  remain  with  her  for  the  night.  So  she  left  me.  Presently, 
because  if  one  waits  long  enough,  such  a  thing  is  sure  to  come  at 
last,  the  night  fell. 

At  seven,  Mr.  Hilyard  came.  He  said  the  horses  would  be 
saddled  and  kept  in  readiness,  the  skipper  being  already  in  the 
place,  and  under  promise  to  keep  sober,  while  to  disarm  suspicion 
he  had  been  himself  cursing  all  gentlemen  who  sit  late  over  their 
bottle,  when  they  should  be  up  and  on  their  way. 

At  eight,  because  I  could  no  longer  endure  the  waiting  and 
suspense,  I  dressed,  putting  on  my  warm  hood  and  gloves  and 
having  in  my  pocket  my  money,  videlicet^  a  hundred  guineas,  of 
which  fifty  were  for  the  captain  and  fifty  for  Tom,  to  serve  his 
needs  until  we  could  send  him  more.  Mr.  Hilyard  had  girded  on  a 
sword  (he  was  mighty  martial  since  the  affair  at  Preston),  and  told 
me  he  had  placed  two  loaded  pistols  in  his  saddle.  He  carried  a 
roquelaire,  and  wore  a  short  riding  wig,  in  place  of  his  own  full- 
bottomed  perruque,  and  great  boots.  He  also  carried  a  huge 
bludgeon  for  the  admonition  of  Mohocks  and  street-scourers. 

Thus  equipped,  we  sallied  forth,  the  time  being  about  half-past 
eight,  the  night  clear  and  bright.   We  avoided  the  great  broad  field 


300 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


named  after  Lincoln's  Inn,  because  of  the  highwaymen  and  thieves 

who  abound  there,  but  by  way  of  Little  Queen  Street  emerged  into 
the  broad  highway  called  Hoi  born,  where  there  are  continually  until 
a  late  hour  passengers  and  carriages  of  all  kinds.  It  is  not  a  street 
of  good  repute  after  dark,  being  frequented  by  the  lawyers  and  wild 
students  of  G-ray's  Inn,  Barnard's  Inn,  Staple  Inn,  and  Furnival's 
Inn,  besides  on  both  sides  having  streets  into  which  an  honest  man 
may  not  venture,  even  by  day,  to  say  nothing  of  the  night.  The 
road  ends  in  a  steep  descent,  called  Snow  Hill,  on  the  south  side  of 
which  is  the  famous  Fleet  Market,  and  on  the  north,  as  Mr.  Hilyard 
told  me,  Chick  Lane,  Cow  Lane,  and  other  evil  places  where  the 
footpad  and  pickpocket  lurk  and  live  between  their  flogging!=«,  and 
until  they  meet  their  allotted  end  at  Tyburn.  At  the  bottom  of 
the  hill  you  come  to  the  prison,  and  the  old  gate  standing  across  the 
street.  I  know  not  which  looked  more  gloomy  in  the  moonlight — 
the  black  stone  prison  in  which  so  many  brave  fellows  lay  waiting 
for  their  doom,  or  the  dark  City  gate,  beyond  which  lay  the  way  of 
our  safety. 

Opposite  the  prison,  where  the  street  narrows,  is  a  row  of  stalls, 
used  by  day  for  the  sale  of  fish,  fruit,  and  meat,  but  at  night  left 
bare  ;  a  row  of  bulkheads  on  which,  I  believe,  in  summer  poor  house- 
less wretches,  pf  whom  there  are  so  many  in  this  great  city,  pass 
their  nights.  But  on  this  cold  winter  evening  they  were  quite 
deserted.  The  moon  shone  full  upon  the  prison  side  of  the  street, 
leaving  this  in  darkness. 

Mr.  Hilyard  led  me  into  this  dark  side,  behind  the  stalls,  so  that 
we  could  see,  without  being  seen,  what  went  on  in  the  street. 

Nine  o'clock  struck  from  St.  Sepulchre's  Church — that  church 
which  rings  the  knell  for  the  departing  souls  of  those  who  are  on 
their  way  to  be  hanged.  The  night  was  so  cold  that  there  were  few 
in  the  streets,  and  at  nine  it  is  late  for  honest  folk,  though  early  for 
revellers.  To  me,  standing  hidden  in  the  dark,  the  figures  of  those 
who  passed  were  like  the  figures  that  are  seen  in  a  dream.  I 
remember  them  all  to  this  day — the  sturdy  citizen  in  broadcloth, 
carrying  his  trusty  staff  ;  the  drunken  fellow,  who  reeled  from  post 
to  post,  shouting  a  song  ;  the  young  woman  in  a  domino  and  a 
gaudy  dress  ;  the  old  constable,  with  his  lantern  and  his  staff  ;  the 
wretched  starving  children  who  crept  in  and  out  among  the  bulk- 
heads looking  for  something  to  eat— I  remember  every  one. 

Mr.  Hilyard  stood  beside  me,  patient  and  silent.  It  was  not  till 
after  all  was  finished  and  done  that  I  understood  the  extraordinary 
faithfulness  and  loyalty  of  this  man,  who  had  not  hesitated  first  to 
hazard  his  life  for  a  cause  which  he  loved  not,  or  an  enterprise  which 
he  knew  from  the  beginning  would  be  a  failure,  in  gratitude  to  his 
patron,  whose  favours  he  had  already  repaid  tenfold  by  services  such 
as  are  rendered  by  few — else  were  this  world  made  too  happy.  Then, 
when  he  escaped,  he  did  not  fear  to  hazard  his  life  a  second  time, 
and  that  daily,  by  going  to  a  place  more  fatal  to  rebels  than  Preston 
itself  had  proved,  and  that  in  the  most  frightful  weather,  and  en- 
cumbered by  a  helpless  woman.    I  say  that  I  was  so  selfish  as  to 


TOM'S  ESCAPE, 


30T 


accept  these  things  as  my  just  due,  and  only  what  one  had  a  right 
to  look  for,  and  as  if  all  these  services  were  to  be  given  without  a 
murmur,  and  with  a  cheerful  heart. 

The  clock  struck  the  quarters — one,  two,  three,  four.  It  was  ten, 
and  no  sign  yet  from  the  door  of  the  Governor's  house. 

What  happened  within  was  as  follows.  When  I  left  him,  Tom 
called  for  his  servant,  and  they  took  counsel  together.  Now,  it  was 
Tom's  hospitable  practice  to  desire  the  company  of  any  gentlemen 
within  reach  over  his  bottle  of  an  evening.  Therefore,  his  room 
was  nearly  every  night  filled  with  guests  from  the  prison,  who  drank 
around,  and  fought  their  unlucky  campaign  over  again.  The  ordi- 
nary of  Newgate  was  generally  one  of  them  ;  the  Governor  of  the 
prison,  Mr.  Pitts,  another  ;  and  one  or  two  of  the  prisoners  who 
occupied,  with  Tom,  the  Governor's  room,  also  sat  with  him.  This 
evening  Mr.  Pitts  came,  according  to  custom,  and  Sir  Francis  Ander- 
ton  (a  gentleman  from  Lancashire,  who  had  the  bad  luck  to  join  at 
Preston  the  day  before  the  fight).  Fortunately  there  were  no 
others.  Tom  had  arranged  with  his  servant,  Thomas  Lee,  that  he 
was  to  be  drinking  downstairs  with  Mr.  Pitts'  man,  Jonas,  and  any 
others,  but  that  he  should  contrive  to  be  left  the  last  with  J onas  ; 
and,  when  they  were  alone,  he  was  to  invent  some  way  in  which  it 
should  seem  as  if  he  had  forcibly  silenced  the  fellow.  (I  believe  he 
was  to  knock  him  on  the  head,  if  necessary  ;  but  Jonas  needed  no 
such  extremity  of  persuasion.)  Then  he  was  to  run  upstairs  and 
let  his  master  know  that  the  coast  was  clear.  Like  master,  like 
man.  While  they  drank  port  upstairs,  downstairs  they  drank  beer. 
Below  they  drank  so  much,  and  they  talked  so  long,  that  it  was 
eleven  o'clock  before  they  separated.  Then  Thomas  Lee  was  left 
alone  with  Jonas. 

*  Come,  lad,'  said  he,  ^  let's  have  another  pot.    Go  draw  it.' 

The  fellow  (this  being  the  plan  agreed  upon)  took  the  jug  and 
went  to  the  cellar-dcor,  which,  as  soon  as  he  reached,  Lee  shut 
upon  him  (as  had  also  been  agreed  between  them),  knocking  him 
down  the  cellar  steps  (which  was  not  in  the  agreement).  This 
done,  and  Jonas  sprawling  on  the  floor  below,  Tom  Lee  made  the 
door  fast  with  a  peg  above  the  latch. 

Then  he  went  softly  up  the  stairs  to  his  master's  room,  and 
opening  the  door,  peeped  in.  Sir  Francis  was  talking  at  a  great 
rate,  being  somewhat  disguised  in  wine  ;  Mr.  Forster  was  sitting 
opposite  to  him,  and  in  a  chair  beside  the  door  sat  Mr.  Pitts,  the 
Governor.  But  his  face  was  purple  with  much  wine,  and  his  eyes 
were  heavy  and  stupid. 

*  Sir,'  said  Tom,  seeing  the  servant  at  the  door,  '  another  glass  ;  a 
bumper.  Why,  the  night  is  young,  and  we  have  another  bottle  at 
least  to  finish.'  So  he  poured  out  a  brimming  one,  and  gave  it  to 
Mr.  Pitts  ;  and  because  the  Governor's  hand  was  too  unsteady 
to  carry  the  glass,  Tom  kindly  lifted  it  to  his  lips.  Mr.  Pitts 
drained  it  greedily  ;  his  head  fell  back,  his  eyes  closed  and  his 
mouth  open.  Mr.  Pitts  was  as  drunk  a?  "^ny  gentleman  can  desire 
to  be. 


302 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


*  I  am  going  to  escape,  Sir  Francis,'  said  Tom  calmly ;  *  the  way 
is  clear.    Will  you  join  company  ?' 

Not  I,  General,'  said  Sir  Francis.  *  I  prefer  to  stay  where  I  am 
until  they  let  me  go.  I  doubt  whether  running  away  will  serve  me 
so  well  as  keeping  still.  Hang  me  they  will  not.  Of  that  I  have 
assurance.  And  I  would  save  my  estate  if  I  could.  But  if  I  were 
you,  I  would  go,  and  that  as  quickly  as  maybe.' 

It  was  about  half-past  eleven  when,  to  my  unspeakable  joy,  the 
door  opened,  and  I  saw  Tom  and  the  servant  Lee  standing  in  the 
moonlight.  There  was  not  another  person  in  the  Old  Bailey.  I 
rushed  across  and  dragged  him  by  the  arm.  ^  Come,  Tom  !  hasten!' 
I  cried.    *  Oh  !  quick — quick  !' 

*  By  your  leave,  sir,'  said  Lee.  ^  If  we  lock  the  door  from  the 
outside,  and  leave  the  key  in  the  lock,  they  will  not  be  able  to  open 
it  from  within.'    And  this  he  did. 

Then  we  walked  quickly  away,  my  own  heart  beating.  By  good 
luck  we  met  no  one  in  Newgate  Street,  though  if  we  had  I  suppose 
there  would  have  been  no  notice  taken  of  us.  The  stable-yard  of 
the  Salutation  Tavern  was  full  of  men,  who  were  loading  and  un- 
loading waggons,  late  as  it  was  ;  but  this  was  better  for  us,  because 
it  enabled  our  horses  to  be  brought  out  without  attracting  notice. 
Here  I  must  not  forget  one  thing.  The  night  was  very  cold.  Tom 
was  dressed  in  his  ordinary  grey  cloth  coat.  Mr.  Hilyard  took  off 
his  roquelaire  and  threw  it  over  his  shoulders,  saying,  *  This  I 
brought  for  your  honour  to  wear,'  and  so  went  cold  himself  aU  that 
night. 

You  may  be  sure  we  lost  no  time  in  mounting,  and  rode  off 
through  the  quiet  streets,  where  the  echo  of  our  horses'  feet  seemed 
to  me  like  the  ringing  of  alarm-bells.  There  were  plenty  of  people 
still  in  Cheapside,  the  London  citizens  caring  little  about  late  hours  ; 
they  passed  along  the  street  behind  the  posts,  but  paid  no  heed  to 
the  party  who  rode  so  late.  I  suppose  it  is  not  much  more  than 
half  a  mile  from  Newgate  Street  to  Aldgate  ;  but  to  me  it  seemed 
ten  miles,  so  slowly  did  the  time  pass  ;  and  Mr.  Hilyard  whispering 
continually  : 

'  Gro  easy,  sir  ;  seem  not  to  be  in  haste  ;  in  a  few  minutes  we  shall 
be  beyond  the  streets  and  in  the  open.    Make  no  sign  of  haste.' 

Tom  rode  in  the  middle,  his  roquelaire  wrapped  round  him  hiding 
his  face  ;  I  on  his  right,  in  hood  and  cloak  ;  Mr.  Hilyard  on  his  left, 
and,  behind,  our  friend  the  skipper  and  the  man  Thomas  Lee. 

'Why,'  said  Tom,  when  at  last  we  were  in  the  open  road,  with 
fields  on  either  side,  and  the  stars  above  our  heads  were  clear  and 
bright — '  why,  I  believe  we  may  give  them  the  slip  yet ;  what  say 
you,  Tony  ?' 

*  I  say,  sir,'  replied  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  that  if  your  honour  doth  not 
get  off,  it  will  be  by  some  vile  accident.  But  if  you  do,  you  must 
thank  Miss  Dorothy  for  it,  and  no  one  else,  except  Lord  Crewe,  who 
gave  us  the  money.' 

This  was  the  night  of  the  6th  of  March,  and  will  never  be  for- 
gotten, because  it  was  the  night  of  that  dreadful  appearance  in  the 


TOM'S  ESCAPE, 


303 


heavens,  whicla  frighted  the  whole  of  England,  and  none,  I  think, 
more  than  the  party  who  were  riding  as  quickly  as  they  could  along 
the  road  which  leads  from  London  to  Leigh,  through  Tilbury.  It 
appeared  in  the  north,  and  was  at  first  like  a  black  cloud,  from 
which  there  presently  began  to  dart  streaks  or  arrows  of  red,  blue, 
or  pale  fire.  This  dreadful  spectacle  lasted  the  whole  night  through, 
but  sometimes  more  terrible  for  awhile,  and  then  growing  low  as  a 
fire  which  spends  itself.  Then  it  would  light  up  again  with  flames 
of  all  colours  most  frightful  to  see.  As  we  rode  through  the 
villages  the  people  were  all  out  in  the  roads  dressed,  and  crying, 
weeping,  wringing  their  hands,  or  praying  ;  in  more  than  one  the 
clergyman  was  exhorting  the  people  to  instant  repentance  and  pre- 
paration for  death  ;  many,  I  heard  afterwards,  were  frightened  into 
fits,  and  children  were  born  before  theii^  time  in  consequence  of  the 
universal  terror,  for  none  would  believe  but  that  they  were  gazing 
upon  the  flames  of  hell,  and  that  the  end  of  the  world  was  come. 

'  This  cannot  fail,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  '  to  be  a  mark  of  Heaven's 
displeasure,  did  we  only  know  at  what.  For  it  may  be  that  the 
Lord  is  angry  at  the  recent  rebellion,  or  because  it  failed  ;  or  at 
the  execution  of  the  two  lords,  which  seems  probable  ;  or  at  the 
accession  of  King  George— and  yet  he  is  a  Protestant  ;  or  at  the 
flight  of  the  Prince — but  he  is  a  Papist.  If  one  could  certainly  tell 
what  was  intended  by  this  apparition,  one  might  move  all  hearts  to 
do  the  will  of  the  Lord.  But  as  in  oracles  there  is  doubt,  and  in 
the  interpretation  of  the  Word  there  is  disagreement,  so  in  such 
matters  as  this  appearance  in  the  skies  (which  is  indeed  terrifying), 
and  in  comets,  shooting  stars,  meteors,  and  flaming  swords  in  the 
heavens,  while  we  can  have  no  doubt  that  they  are  intended  by  way 
of  warning  and  admonition  to  us  all,  I  think  that  we  must  each  read 
and  interpret  the  message  for  ourselves.' 

'  Is  it,  Tony,'  asked  Tom,  '  the  end  of  the  world  ?  To  be  sure, 
one  would  rather  meet  that  awful  event  in  the  open  than  in  the 
Governor's  House  tippling  with  Mr.  Pitts.' 

*  I  think  not,'  replied  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  that  it  is  yet  the  end  of  the 
world,  many  prophecies  remaining  to  be  fulfilled.'  I  confess  I  felt 
relief  at  this  assurance.  '  Besides,  we  mast  remember  that  it  is  not 
the  first  time  by  a  great  many  that  strange  appearances  have  been 
permitted  in  the  heavens.' 

He  then  began  to  while  away  the  time,  we  now  proceeding  at  a 
steady  trot  along  the  deserted  roads,  by  recalling  some  of  the  well- 
known  miraculous  signs,  as  Constantine's  cross,  the  fiery  dragon  of 
Staffordshire,  the  double  sun  of  Chatham,  and  so  forth  ;  by  means 
of  which,  if  he  did  not  altogether  allay  our  fears,  he  distracted  our 
thoughts,  and  in  this  way  we  arrived  at  the  coast  and  little  village 
of  Leigh.  It  is  thirty-nine  miles  from  London,  but  no  large  places 
on  the  road  except  Barking,  and,  not  to  speak  of  the  villagers  whom 
we  found  frightened  in  the  streets,  we  met  no  one  all  the  way  from 
Bow,  and  drew  rein  somewhere  about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
having  ridden  the  distance  in  five  hours,  the  roads  good  and  hard, 
and  the  night  fine  (except  for  that  dreadful  phenomenon  in  the 


304 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


north).  Thus  far,  then,  had  we  succeeded  almost  beyond  our  hopes. 
At  low  tide  the  water  runs  out  very  far  at  Leigh,  and  leaves  a  long 
bank  of  mud ;  but  now  the  tide  was  very  high,  and  a  fair  wind  from 
the  north-west,  and  though  the  moon  was  long  since  gone  down, 
there  was  plenty  of  light  from  the  terrible  fire  in  the  north. 

Half  a  dozen  vessels  lay  off  the  coast,  looking  black  against  the 
sky.  Our  skipper  pointed  to  one  at  whose  bows  there  hung  two 
lights. 

'  It  is  the  vessel,'  he  said.    *  There  is  my  ship.' 

There  followed  great  whistling  and  shouting  of  '  Ship  ahoy  !'  and 
presently  a  little  boat  came  rowing  from  her  with  one  man  aboard, 
who  pulled  ashore. 

'  Now,  sir,'  said  our  captain. 

'  The  bargain  stands,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  before  the  money  was 
handed  over. 

*  Ay,  ay— the  bargain  is  right  enough  if  the  guineas  are  ready.' 
'Plere  they  are,  then.' 

Mr.  Hilyard  gave  him  the  bag  with  the  fifty  guineas  in  it.  He 
opened  it,  looked  at  the  contents,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket  without 
counting. 

'  Good,'  he  said.  '  Now,  sir,  if  your  honour  is  to  get  aboard,  the 
sooner  the  better.  The  tide  is  on  the  ebb,  and  a  fairer  wind  couldn't 
be.    If  it  holds,  we  shall  be  in  Calais  Harbour  in  eight  hours.' 

*  Dorothy,  said  Tom,  '  kiss  me,  my  dear.  I  shall  come  back  soon 
— with  the  Prince.  Take  care  of  her,  Tony.  Why,  the  good  days 
shall  come  back  again.  Many  a  bottle  shall  we  crack  together  yet ; 
many  a  song  you  shall  sing  for  us.  Farewell — oh  !  Dorothy,  think 
not  I  am  ungrateful  because  I  say  little.  There  is  not  another 
woman  in  the  world  who  would  do  so  much  for  her  brother,  I  think. 
Thy  hand  again,  Tony.    Take  care  of  her,  I  say.' 

And  with  that  he  stepped  into  the  boat  with  his  man,  and  they 
were  gone.  We  stood  upon  the  shore  and  watched.  Presently  we 
heard  a  yo-hoing — they  were  hauling  up  the  anchor  ^  then  the  siiip 
began  to  drift  slowly  into  the  mid-channel ;  the  sails  were  set,  and 
filled  out  in  the  breeze  ;  the  vessel  slipped  out  of  our  sight,  and 
was  gone. 

I  fell  upon  my  knees,  while  Mr.  Hilyard,  taking  off  his  hat, 
solemnly  thanked  God.  Behind  us,  as  we  offered  this  humble 
service  of  gratitude  and  praise,  the  awful  fire  in  the  northern  sky 
darted  its  arrows  of  fire  like  lightnings  to  and  fro.  Then,  without 
halting,  we  mounted  again  and  rode  back  together,  leaving  the 
other  three  horses  to  stray  where  they  listed.  Our  work  was  almost 
done.  There  remained  one  thing  more — to  put  the  messengers  on  a 
false  scent  in  case  of  the  vessel  being  delayed  off  the  Nore  by  a 
contrary  wind.  '  For,'  said  Mr.  Hilyard,  *  this  wind  may  drop  or 
chop  round  :  any  such  accident  may  happen.  His  honour  is  not 
safe  until  he  is  on  French  soil.  Let  us,  therefore,  go  seek  the 
villain  at  Wapping,  who  looks  to  receive  the  reward  and  then  to 
betray  us.' 

At  Barking  I  was  fain  to  cry  a  halt,  and  must  needs  rest    It  waa 


TOM'S  ESCAPE. 


305 


then  past  six  o'clock,  and  already  daylight.  I  was  in  those  days  as 
strong  as  most  yonng  women,  but  a  whole  night  in  the  saddle,  after 
the  weariness  and  anxiety  of  the  day,  vis  sufficient  excuse  for  any- 
one to  be  tired. 

After  two  or  three  hours'  rest  I  was  able  to  ride  on  to  Wapping. 
We  found  the  fellow  we  were  in  search  of,  and  deceived  him  with 
the  expectation  of  taking  Mr.  Forster,  whose  name  we^  gave  him, 
on  board  the  next  day.  So  successful  was  this  deception,  and  so 
correct  was  Mr.  Hilyard's  estimate  of  the  man,  that  on  his  informa- 
tion messengers  were  sent  to  Wapping  to  lie  in  wait  for  the  escaped 
prisoner,  for  whose  capture  they  offered  a  thousand  pounds.  But 
before  a  week  passed  we  had  a  letter  from  Tom.  He  was  safe  in 
France,  and  proposed  to  go  to  Bar-le-Duc,  where  the  Prince  was  hold- 
ing his  Court. 

Thus  was  I  suffered,  by  the  mercy  of  Heaven,  to  save  my  brother's 
life.  *  Child,'  said  Lady  Cowper,  '  be  assured  that  we  all  rejoice. 
Your  brother  could  not  be  pardoned.  If  any  were  to  suffer,  needs 
must  that  the  General  be  one.  Lucky  he  is  in  having  such  a  sister. 
I  have  told  the  Princess  whose  wit  it  was  that  set  the  bird  free,  and 
she  laughed.  As  for  yourself,  rest  easy,  my  dear.  There  will  no 
harm  happen  to  thee.' 

CHAPTER  XL. 

THE  END. 

So  all  was  done,  and  Tom  was  saved.  The  fate  of  poor  mad  Jack 
Hall  and  the  Reverend  Mr.  Paul,  not  to  speak  of  Colonel  Oxbrough 
and  Captain  Gascoigne,  sufficiently  proved  what  M%  end  would  have 
been  had  we  failed  to  effect  his  rescue.  As  regards  the  rest  of  the 
English  gentlemen  condemned  (I  say  nothing  about  those  of  Scot- 
land), all  those  who  were  brought  to  London  escaped  the  hangman. 
Some,  among  whom  were  Mr.  Gibson  of  Stonecrof t,  and  my  old 
lover,  Ned  Swinburne — poor  boy ! — died  in  Newgate ;  others  ob- 
tained a  pardon.  Among  these  were  Perry  Widdrington,  Mr. 
Standish,  and  Mr.  Errington,  of  my  own  friends.  Others  escaped, 
among  whom  especially  was  Charles  Radcliffe.  But  those  who  were 
pardoned  and  those  who  escaped  live  in  poverty,  having  been  mostly 
stripped  of  their  estates ;  so  that  the  end  of  this  most  unhappy 
enterprise  hath  been  to  deprive  the  Prince  of  all  his  best  friends  in 
that  part  of  England  where  formerly  he  was  most  powerful.  It  is 
true  that  we  are  still,  and  always  shall  be,  loyal ;  but  when  this 
Prince  comes  again,  of  which  I  hear  nothing  of  late,  where  will  be 
the  leaders  ?  Dilston  lies  neglected,  falling  into  ruin  ;  the  Countess 
is  dead  ;  her  son  is  dead  ;  Charles  Radcliffe,  to  whom  it  now  belongs, 
is  in  exile.  Lord  Widdrington  is  living,  but  he  is  now  grown  old, 
and  his  estates  and  rank  have  been  taken  from  him.  Far  better  had 
they  all,  as  Lady  Crewe  counselled,  sat  down  in  peace  until  the 
nation  should  call  the  Prince  to  his  own  again.  This  Mr.  Hilyard 
thinks  will  certainly  be  done  if  the  young  man,  now  eighteen  years 
old  in  this  year  of  grace  seventeen  hundred  and  thirty-nine,  consen  is 

20 


3o6 


DOROTHY  FORSTER, 


to  beome  a  Protestant.  But  a  Papist  King  this  country,  he  says, 
will  never  endure,  nor  look  to  preserve  the  Church  by  a  Catholic 
Head.  As  well  expect  the  Church  and  our  Protestant  liberties  to 
be  preserved  if  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  were  a  Cardinal,  and 
his  brother  bishops  Grand  Inquisitors,  Papal  Nuncios,  and  Italian 
priests ! 

It  remains  to  tell  of  our  return  journey.  We  came  to  London 
in  disguise,  but  we  went  home  openly.  We  came  in  sadness  and 
fearful  expectation,  through  snow  and  ice,  beaten  by  the  fierce 
blast  from  the  north,  as  by  the  breath  of  the  Lord's  displeasure. 
We  went  back  again  through  the  soft  sunshine  and  the  gentle  rains 
of  April,  the  flowers  springing  under  our  feet,  the  tender  leaves 
shining,  the  birds  singing  in  every  bosky  grove,  the  little  lambs 
dancing  in  the  meadows.  My  heart,  which  can  never  again  be 
merry  for  thinking  of  that  noble  head  laid  low  on  Tower  Hill,  was, 
at  least,  full  of  gratitude,  because  Tom  was  safe  across  the  seas. 

After  some  days  of  riding  we  came  to  Stene,  where  I  proposed 
to  give  Lord  Crewe  an  account  of  my  stewardship.  The  sunshine 
of  spring  had  warmed  the  old  man^s  heart.  He  was  walking,  when 
we  arrived,  on  his  terrace,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  his  chaplain. 
He  laughed  when  he  saw  me,  striking  the  ground  with  his  stick. 

'  Ho  !  ho  !  It  is  fair  Dorothy,'  he  cried  ;  *  Dorothy,  who  breaks 
prison-bars  and  picks  the  locks,  and  sets  the  prisoners  free  !  Come, 
kiss  me,  child  !  I  have  heard,  and  I  rejoice.  Tom  was  a  fool  ; 
but  we,  who  have  the  misfortune  to  own  fools  in  the  family,  love 
not  that  they  should  be  hanged  for  their  folly.  Why,  thou  art 
looking  ten  years  younger — more  like  my  own  Dorothy,  poor  crea- 
ture !  when  I  married  her.  Stay  with  me  awhile,  child.  Let  thy 
sweet  looks  comfort  my  old  heart,  which  is  lonely.  David  in  his 
age  was  permitted  to  find  comfort  in  Abigail.  Stay  awhile  and 
rest.  And  you.  Sir  Terrse  Filius — ah,  villain  ! — shall  stay  too,  to 
tell  me  of  all  that  hath  chanced.' 

We  stayed  with  the  good  Bishop  for  six  weeks.  Every  day,  at 
dinner,  Mr.  Hilyard  related  something  new  concerning  the  Rebel- 
lion, its  progress,  and  its  downfall.  Also  he  had  much  to  say 
concerning  London  and  the  coffee-house  loyalists  and  the  mob. 
In  the  evening  I  played  music  to  his  lordship,  or  listened  to  his 
grave  and  learned  talk.  There  was  no  need  to  hurry  northwards, 
where  cold  cheer,  indeed,  awaited  us.  When  the  time  came  that 
we  should  go  on  our  way,  my  lord  held  with  me  a  long  and  earnest 
discourse.  First,  he  asked  if  I  wished  to  return  to  my  father's 
house,  or  would  continue  at  the  Manor  House.  I  told  him  that  as 
I  had  lived  for  many  years  in  my  grandfather's  house,  there  would 
I  wish  still  to  live,  and  to  sit  in  the  chancel,  and  think  myself  one 
of  the  Bamborough  Forsters  ;  and  that  out  of  no  disrespect  for  my 
father,  but  only  because  of  her  ladyship's  affection  and  kindness, 
and  because  Tom  loved  Bamborough  better  than  Etherston,  and, 
lastly,  because  I  could  not  live  happily,  being  now  a  woman  past 
five-and-twenty  years,  and  no  mere  child  to  be  rebuked  by  madam, 
jny  father's  wife. 


THE  END. 


307 


Thereupon  the  Bishop  sat  gravely  thinking  for  awhile,  and 
presently  said  that  he  should  give  orders  for  the  house  to  be  main- 
tained for  me,  with  a  sufficient  yearly  sum  of  money,  as  long  as  I 
lived,  or  remained  single  ;  and  if  1  married,  then  it  would  be  his 
pleasure  to  provide  for  me  an  honourable  marriage-portion,  in 
memory  and  for  the  sake  of  his  dear  wife,  who,  had  she  lived, 
would  have  done  as  much,  or  more,  for  me,  being,  as  had  been 
abundantly  proved,  always  most  tender  for  her  own  family,  and 
also  in  token  of  his  own  admiration  for  what  he  was  pleased  to 
call  my  courage  and  resolution  in  the  conduct  of  Tom's  escape, 
concerning  which  he  everyday  spoke  as  if  it  was  some  wonderful 
thing  I  had  done,  whereas,  had  it  not  been  for  the  use  of  his 
money,  and  for  Mr.  Hilyard's  zeal,  and  Purdy  the  blacksmith,  I 
could  have  effected  nothing.  It  pleased  the  Bishop,  also,  though 
he  was  so  rich  a  man,  that  the  escape  had  cost  him  so  little. 

Well,  I  thanked  his  lordship  in  words  as  respectful  and  as 
grateful  as  I  could  command,  and  told  him  that,  as  for  a  marriage- 
portion,  I  desired  none,  because  it  was  my  resolution  never  to 
marry,  but  to  live  a  single  life. 

'  That,'  said  the  Bishop,  '  is  easy  to  say,  but  hard  to  do.  Never- 
theless, whether  thou  marry  or  do  not  marry — but  upon  this  head 
see  what  Paul  hath  written  clearly.  Why,  child,  is  no  man  to  be 
made  happy  by  thy  beauty?' 

'  Because,  my  lord,'  I  said,  '  I  was  once  honoured  by  the  love  of 
the  most  noble  heart  in  all  the  world.  I  could  not  marry  him, 
and  he  is  now  dead  ;  but  beside  his  memory  all  other  men  look 
small.' 

To  this  he  made  no  reply  for  awhile ;  but  presently  he  said, 
looking  upon  me  tenderly  : 

*  Nay,  if  the  memory  of  a  dead  man  be  of  such  force — but  re- 
member, child,  he  was  not  thy  husband,  nor  could  ever  be.  Think 
of  him  if  thou  wilt,  but — well,  I  doubt  not  of  thy  piety.' 

He  then  informed  me  that  had  things  gone  otherwise,  it  was  his 
intention  to  settle  all  the  Bamborough  estates  upon  his  wife  for 
her  lifetime,  and  after  death  upon  Tom  and  his  heirs,  but  entailed, 
so  that  he  could  not  part  with  any  ;  that  now,  however,  it  was 
useless  to  bequeath  anything  to  an  outlaw  ;  besides,  he  could  not 
forgive  Tom,  first,  for  meddling  with  conspirators,  he  being  a 
simple  country  gentleman  ;  next,  for  rashly  taking  up  arms  with- 
out the  least  provision  of  money,  war  materials,  or  men  ;  thirdly, 
for  the  lame  and  miserable  conclusion  of  the  enterprise  ;  and, 
lastly,  for  the  anxiety  and  trouble  all  this  business  had  caused  to 
his  wife,  whereof  she  fell  ill  and  died. 

*  He  hath  made  his  bed,'  said  the  Bishop.  *'  Let  him  lie  upon  it. 
"  It  is  as  sport,"  said  the  wise  man,  yea,  "  as  sport  to  a  fool  to  do 
mischief  ;  but  a  man  of  understanding  hath  wisdom."  ' 

Next,  he  told  me  that  he  had  considered  the  case  of  Mr.  Hilyard. 

*He  is,'  said  my  lord,  '  a  man  of  singular  honesty,  fidelity,  and 
affection.  I  have  learned  that  he  served  Tom  for  many  years  for 
no  reward,  giving  up  the  yearly  wage  promised  him  rather  than 

20—2 


3o8 


DOROTHY  FORSTEB. 


deprive  his  patron  of  certain  pleasures.  I  might  continue  him  as 
steward  of  the  estate  ;  but  I  am  old,  and  may  expect  my  departure 
any  day.  Therefore,  I  am  resolved  upon  ordaining  him  ;  and,  if  I 
live  long  enough,  and  he  prove  worthy,  I  will  advance  him  to  pre- 
ferment. Would  that  all  my  clergy  were  as  learned  and  as  pious 
as  this  man  of  parts  and  wit,  this  Terrse  Filius  whom  they  expelled 
from  my  own  college  !' 

Indeed,  during  our  stay  at  Stene,  Mr.  Hilyard,  by  the  stories 
which  he  told,  the  learning  he  displayed,  and  that  admirable 
quality  of  his  which  enabled  him  to  adapt  his  conversation  to  the 
taste  and  opinions  of  his  company,  made  the  Bishop  think  so 
favourably  of  him  that  the  very  next  year,  when  he  was  advanced 
from  deacon's  to  priest's  orders,  he  made  him  a  canon  of  Durham, 
which  dignified  position  Mr.  Hilyard  still  occupies,  an  ornament 
and  pillar  to  the  Church.  He  sings  no  more,  except  anthems, 
several  of  which,  very  stately  and  moving,  he  hath  composed  for 
the  quire  of  the  Cathedral ;  nor  does  he  laugh  any  more,  or  play 
antic  tricks,  being  now,  indeed,  fully  possessed  with  the  gravity 
and  dignity  of  his  sacred  office  ;  and,  besides,  he  is  now  past  fifty 
years  of  age. 

He  spends  most  of  his  time  in  Bamborough,  so  as  to  be  near  me, 
knowing  how  great  a  solace  to  me  is  his  company.  We  walk 
together  upon  the  sands,  or  W3  wander  together,  as  in  the  old 
days,  among  the  ruins  of  our  brave  old  castle.  We  talk  of  the 
time  when  I  was  a  little  girl  and  Tom  a  brave  and  gallant  youth, 
leaping  across  the  rocks  of  Farne.  The  sea  breaks  upon  those 
lonely  rocks,  and  the  wild-fowl  scream  ;  but  Tom  lies  dead  in  the 
Bamborough  vault.  Last  year  I  made  a  boatman  take  me  across, 
and  sat  within  the  broken  walls  of  St.  Cuthbert's  Chapel  a  whole 
summer's  morning  through,  thinking  of  the  past. 

So  here  have  I  lived  since  May,  1716,  retired,  but  not  lonely. 
My  father  is  dead,  and  madam,  and  her  son  Ralph,  my  half- 
brother  ;  and  my  brother  John  now  reigns  at  Etherston.  He  is 
not  yet  married  ;  and,  if  he  hath  no  children,  there  w^ill  soon  be 
no  Forsters  at  Etherston  any  more  than  at  Bamborough.  The 
friends  of  my  youth  are  scattered  or  dead  ;  the  old  noisy  life, 
with  the  holloas  of  the  f  oxhunters  and  the  merry  laugh  of  the  lads 
going  out  on  horseback,  has  gone  far  away  from  this  quiet  place  ; 
but  the  castle  remains,  and  within  its  crumbling  w^alls  I  can  walk 
alone  and  meditate,  whether  in  the  calm  days  when  the  sunshine 
lies  upon  the  quiet  sea,  or  when  the  waves  dash  along  the  coast, 
and  the  spray  flies  from  the  rocks  into  my  face.  In  the  evening 
Mr.  Hilyard  is  often  my  companion,  and  we  read,  converse,  and 
have  sweet  music  together.  I  hear  nothing  more  of  any  plots,  and 
I  ask  no  longer  concerning  the  voice  of  the  country  as  regards 
the  Prince.  Yet  from  long  habit,  and  because  he  is  our  lawful 
Sovereign,  I  drink  daily,  as  in  duty  bound,  a  glass  of  wine  to  the 
health  of  King  James. 

A  strange  thing  I  learned  lately  through  Mr.  Hilyard,  who 
came  upon  a  camp  of  gipsies,  and  conversed  with  them.    It  was 


THE  END. 


309 


of  Jenny  Lee.  After  the  death  of  Frank,  he  told  me,  Jenny 
became  careless  of  her  acting,  and  took  no  more  delight  in  the 
theatre  ;  and  one  day  she  sold  all  her  jewels  and  the  fine  presents 
her  friends  and  suitors  had  given  her,  and  so  went  back  to  her  own 
people,  preferring  to  wander  with  them,  and  dwell  in  tents  and 
under  carts,  rather  than  live  any  more  in  towns.  Thus  broke  out 
the  wild  gipsy  blood ;  and  now  she  sits  among  the  wise  women, 
wiser  herself  than  any,  and  tells  fortunes,  reads  hands,  and  practises 
sorcery.  A  strange  creature,  truly.  Can  there  be  born  men  and 
women  without  souls  ? 

Bat  I  have  never  seen  her,  nor  hath  Mr.  Hilyard,  since  Frank 
Kadcliffe's  death,  and  I  do  not  think  she  will  come  to  our  part  of 
the  country. 

Once  Mr.  Hilyard  asked  me  if  I  remained  still  of  the  same  mind 
as  to  marriage.  I  knew  what  he  meant,  and  am  deeply  grateful 
to  him  for  all  that  he  hath  done  for  me,  therefore  I  hastened  to 
assure  him  of  my  constant  and  sincere  respect  and  affection  for 
him  ;  but,  as  regards  the  subject  of  marriage,  my  mind  was  the 
same,  and  I  asked  of  Heaven  nothing  more  than  a  continuance  of 
his  company,  his  prayers,  and  his  pious  counsels  until  the  end, 
which  will  not  be  long,  perhaps,  for  the  Forsters  do  never  live, 
any  of  them,  like  many  of  this  county,  to  eighty  or  a  hundred 
years.  He  accepted  my  answer,  and  we  have  spoken  of  the  subject 
no  more  ;  but  he  continueth,  as  always,  my  most  faithful  and 
loving  friend. 


FINIS. 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


POSTSCRIPTUM. 

(written  by  the  reverend  antony  hilyard,  canon  of 

DURHAM,) 

On  the  evening  of  February  24th  in  this  year,  seventeen  hundred 
and  thirty-nine,  there  died  the  sweetest,  the  most  virtuous,  and  the 
most  pious  of  all  Christian  women,  namely,  my  friend  and  mistress, 
Dorothy  Forster,  somewhere  about  the  fiftieth  year  of  her  age. 
She  had  been  growing  thin  and  somewhat  ailing  for  many  months 
since  she  heard  the  news  of  her  brother's  death  in  France,  for  she 
always  longed  and  prayed  that  he  might  return  ;  and,  when  we 
buried  his  body  in  the  church,  she  said,  speaking  in  prophecy,  that 
she  should  soon  follow  him.  The  winter  set  in  early,  and  was 
colder  than  is  common  with  us.  This  made  her  cough  trouble- 
some ;  but  yet  I  hoped  that  she  would  prove  strong  enough  to 
throw  it  off.  On  the  Sunday  before  she  died  we  walked  to  church 
together,  though  she  should  properly  have  stayed  within  her  house 
by  the  fireside  ;  but  it  was  Communion  day,  and  she  wished  to 
join  in  that  solemn  rite.  The  church  was  cold,  and  I  suppose  it 
struck  a  chill  to  her,  for  she  took  to  her  bed  in  the  afternoon  ; 
and  although  at  first  we  thought  light  of  it,  she  never  got  up 
again. 

All  the  morning  of  her  last  day  I  sat  at  her  bedside,  reading  to 
her  first  the  Office  of  the  Sick  ;  next,  at  her  desire,  that  chapter  of 
Corinthians  which  is  ordered  for  the  funeral  service,  and  after- 
wards I  expounded  to  her,  with  such  earnestness  as  I  could,  some 
of  the  reasons  of  our  faith,  and  quoted  for  her  solace  certain 
thoughts  of  our  Divines  upon  the  happiness  of  those  who  die 
penitent,  forgiven,  and  fortified  by  the  last  offices  of  the 
Church. 

About  two  of  the  clock  she  fell  into  a  gentle  slumber,  and  I  left 
her  for  awhile,  thinking  that  she  would  awake  stronger.  But  at 
three  or  thereabouts  I  was  called  by  her  maid  to  come  quickly,  for 
her  mistress  was  dying. 

Alas !  she  was,  yet  not  so  quickly  but  that  I  had  time  to  ad- 
minister the  Holy  Sacrament  to  her,  and  to  receive  her  parting 
commands. 

'  This  is  the  day,'  she  said, '  twenty-six  years  ago,  that  Lord  Der- 
wentwater  suffered.    It  is  strangely  ordered  that  I  should  also  die 


POSTSCRIPTUM. 


on  this  day.  Perhaps  before  the  sun  goes  down  I  may  be  standing 
beside  him.' 

'  It  is  a  sure  mark,'  I  told  her,  *  that  Heaven  approves  the  sweet 
remembrance  and  kindly  affection  which  you  ever  entertained 
towards  his  lordship.' 

'  Why,'  she  said,  in  her  simple  way,  *  did  he  not  once  love  me  ? 
Could  I  ever  forget  so  great  an  honour  ?  Dear  friend,  do  one 
thing  more  to  pleasure  me,  you  who  have  done  so  much.  It  will 
be  the  last  time  that  I  shall  trouble  you  to  do  anything  more  for 
me.' 

Would  to  God  that  I  could  have  done  a  thousand ! 

*  When  I  am  dead,  take  from  my  finger  this  ring,  which  I  wear 
night  and  day.  He  bade  the  Countess  give  it  me.  Then  look  in 
my  desk,  and  you  will  find  the  verses  he  once  wrote  to  me.  Wrap 
both  ring  and  verses  together,  and  lay  them  on  my  heart  when  I 
am  in  my  coffin.    Farewell,  dear,  kind,  and  true  friend.' 

So  she  died,  and  with  her  died  all  my  joy,  or  most  of  it,  because 
a  man  should  be  so  far  resigned  to  Heaven's  will  as  still  to  find 
pleasure  in  the  noble  wines  of  France  and  Spain,  and  the  many 
other  excellent  gifts  which  have  been  vouchsafed  for  our  use. 
'Twere  sinful  not  to  partake  of  them  ;  but  the  gentle  companion, 
the  pious,  sincere  soul,  whose  presence  always  uplifted  my  heart 
and  banished  thoughts  sordid,  mean,  and  impure,  as  the  presence 
of  an  angel  maketh  devils  to  flee — she  is  gone  !  Alas  !  H6w  can 
one  be  worthy  to  follow  after  her,  and  sit  with  her  where  she  sits 
in  the  calm  and  happy  bliss  which  awaits  such  as  her  ?  I  buried 
with  her  the  verses  and  the  ring.  But  as  regards  the  former  I  had 
many  compunctions,  and  hope  that  the  sin  of  deceit  will  not  be 
laid  to  my  charge,  because  the  verses,  which  she  always  thought  to 
be  written  by  his  lordship,  were  indeed  written  by  myself  ;  but  I 
had  never  the  heart  to  tell  her  this,  seeing  that  she  loved  him  so 
w^ell,  and  took  such  pleasure  in  the  foolish  trifling  rhymes  (which 
yet  seem  to  me,  their  author,  not  without  some  merit).  Ah  !  how 
pretty,  how  heavenly  sweet  she  was  in  those  days  when  I  wrote 
them  ! 

Latterly  she  grew  thin  in  the  face,  but  always  sweet-faced,  with 
those  soft  sorrowful  eyes  which  come  to  women  who  go  in  mourn- 
ing for  past  happiness,  and  to  my  thinking  always  the  most 
beautiful  woman  in  all  the  world.  Now  when  she  died,  a  thing 
happened  to  her  concerning  which  I  have  read,  but  never  hoped  to 
witness  it.  For  by  a  singular  grace  and  favour  bestowed  upon 
those  who  loved  her  (I  cannot  account  it  as  anything  less),  the  face 
of  her  youth  returned  to  her  while  she  lay  in  the  coffin,  so  that  she 
looked  like  nothing  in  the  world  so  much  as  a  sweet  sculptured 
angel,  her  lips  half  parted  in  a  gracious  smile,  and  on  her  brow  a 
perfect  rest  and  content ;  and  seeing  this  miracle,  I  knew  without 
doubt  she  was  happy  at  length,  and  where  she  would  wish  to  be. 
Yes  ;  as  she  was  in  her  youth,  save  for  that  sweet  rose  of  colour  on 
her  cheek  (I  remember  how  the  dainty  pink  would  come  and  go 
while  she  waited  for  my  lord  on  the  moors  of  Blanchland,  or 


312 


DOROTHY  FORSTER. 


walked  beside  him  upon  the  flowery  bank  of  Derwent).  The  colour 
was  gone  with  her  soul  to  gladden  again  the  hearts  of  those  who 
loved  her  and  had  gone  before.  Ah  !  sweet  modest  blush  !  What 
did  I  say  of  it  ? 

*  See  where  it  lies  round  lips  and  eyes, 
And  fades  away,  again  to  spring, 
No  lover,  sure,  could  ask  for  more 

Than  still  to  cry,  and  still  to  sing  : 
Oh,  sweet !  oh,  fair  !  beyond  compare, 

Are  Daphne's  cheeks, 
Are  Daphne's  blushing  cheeks,  I  swear,* 


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Diderot. — The  Paradox  of  Act- 
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Drama,  A  Dictionary  of  the. 

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Robin  Gray. 
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World  Say? 
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Meadow. 


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13 


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17 


Mayfair  Library,  continued— 
Quips  and  Quiddities.    Selected  by 

W.  Davenport  Adams. 
The  Agony  Column  of  "The  Times," 

from  iSoo  to  1870.    Edited,  with  an 

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wood. 

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Witch  Stories.   By  E.  Lynn  Linton. 
Ourselves:  Essays  on  Women.  By 

E.  Lynn  Linton. 
Pastimes  and  Players.    By  Robert 

M.**CGREGOR. 


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"I  Say  No."  By  Wilkie  Collins. 
Three  Vols.,  crown  8vo. 

Mrs.CASHEL  HOEY'S  NEJV  NOVEL. 

The  Lover's  Creed.  By  Mrs.  Cashel 
HoEY,  Author  of  "The  Blossoming  of 
an  Aloe,"  &c.  With  12  Illustrations 
by  P.  MacNab.  Three  Vols.,  or.  8vo. 
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Beauty  and  the  Beast.  By  Sarah 
Tytler,  Author  of  "  The  Bride's  Pass," 
"Saint  Mango's  City,"  "  Citoyenne 
Jacqueline,"  &c.    Three  Vols.,  cr.  8vo. 

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A  Hard  Knot.  By  Charles  Gibbon. 
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Popular  Stories  by  the  Best  Authors.    Library  Editions,  many  Illustrated, 
crown  8vo,  cloth  extra,  3s.  6d.  each. 


BY  MRS.  ALEXANDER. 
Maid,  V/ife,  or  V^idow  ? 

BY  BASIL. 
A  Drawn  Game. 

BY  W.  BESANT  &  JAMES  RICE, 
Ready-Money  Mortiboy. 
My  Little  Girl. 
The  Case  of  Mr.  Lucraft. 
This  Son  of  Vulcan. 
With  Harp  and  Crov/n. 
The  Golden  Butterfly. 
By  Ceiia'G  Arbour. 
The  Monks  of  Thslctrsa. 
'Twas  In  Trafalgar's  Bay. 
The  Seamy  Side. 
Thu  Ten  Years'  Tenant. 
The  Chaplain  of  the  Fleet. 
Dorothy  Forster. 

BY  WALTER  BESANT. 
All  Sorts  and  Conditions  of  Men. 
The  Captains'  Room. 
All  In  a  Garden  Fair. 
Dorothy  Forster. 

BY  ROBERT  BUCHANAN, 
A  Child  of  Nature. 
God  and  the  Man. 
The  Shadow  of  the  Sword. 
The  Martyrdom  of  Madeline. 
Love  Me  for  Ever. 
Annan  Water.     I  The  Now  Abelard. 
Matt.  1  Foxglove  Manor. 


BY  MRS.  H.  LOVETT  CAMERON. 
Deceivers  Ever.  [  Juliet's  Guardian. 

BY  MORTIMER  COLLINS, 
Sweet  Anne  Page. 
Transmigration. 
From  Midnight  to  Midnight. 
MORTIMER  &  FRANCES  COLLINS, 
Blacksmith  and  Scholar. 
The  Village  Comedy. 
You  Play  me  False. 

BY  WILKIE  COLLINS. 


Antonlna. 
Basil. 

Hide  and  Seek. 
The  Dead  Secret. 
Queen  of  Hearts. 
My  Miscellanies. 
Woman  In  White. 
The  Moonstone. 
Man  and  Wife. 
Poor  Miss  Finch. 
Miss  or  Mrs.  ? 

BY  DUTTON  COOK. 

Paul  Foster's  Daughter. 

BY  WILLIAM  CYPLES, 

Hearts  of  Gold. 

BY  ALPHONSE  DAUDET, 
Port  Salvation. 

BY  JAMES  DE  MILLE, 
A  Castle  in  Spain. 


New  Magdalen. 
The  Frozen  Deep. 
The  Law  and  the 

Lady. 
TheTwo  Destinies 
Haunted  Hotel. 
The  Fallen  Leaves 
JezebGl'sDaughter 
The  Black  Robe. 
Heart  and  Science 


28 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED  BY 


Piccadilly  Novels,  continued — 
BY  J.  LEITH  DERWENT, 
Our  Lady  of  Tears.  |  Circe's  Lovers. 

BY  M.  BETHAM-EDWARDS. 
Felicia.  I  Kitty. 

BY  MRS.  ANNIE  EDWARDES. 
Archie  Lovell. 

BY  R.  E.  FRANCILLON. 
Olympla.  I    One  by  One. 

Queen  Cophetua.  I  A  Real  Queen. 
Prefaced  by  Sir  BARTLE  FRERE, 
Pandurang  Harl. 

BY  EDWARD  GARRETT, 
The  Capel  Girls. 

BY  CHARLES  GIBBON. 
Robin  Gray.       |  For  Lack  of  Gold. 
In  Love  and  War. 
What  will  the  World  Say? 
For  the  King. 
In  Honour  Bound. 
Queen  of  the  Meadow. 
In  Pastures  Green. 
The  Flower  of  the  Forest. 
A  Heart's  Problem. 
The  Braes  of  Yarrow. 
The  Golden  Shaft. 
Of  High  Degree. 

Fancy  Free.       |    Loving  a  Dream. 

BY  HALL  CAINE, 
The  Shadow  of  a  Crime. 

BY  THOMAS  HARDY, 
Under  the  Greenwood  Tree. 

BY  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE. 
Garth. 

Ellice  Quentin. 

Sebastian  Strome. 

Prince  Saronl's  Wifa. 

Dust.  I  Fortune's  Fool. 

Beatrix  Randolph. 

Miss  Cadogna. 

BY  SIR  A.  HELPS. 
Ivan  de  Biron. 

BY  MRS.  ALFRED  HUNT. 
Thornicroft's  Model 
The  Leaden  Casket. 
Self  Condemned. 

BY  JEAN  INGE  LOW. 
Fated  to  be  Free. 

BY  HARRIETT  JAY. 
The  Queen  of  Connaught 
The  Dark  Colleen. 

BY  HENRY  KINGSLEY, 
Number  Seventeen. 
Oakshott  Castia 


Piccadilly  Novels,  continued — 
BY  E.  LYNN  LINTON. 
Patricia  Kemball. 
Atonement  of  Leam  Dundas. 
The  World  V/ell  Lost. 
Under  which  Lord? 
With  a  Silken  Thread. 
The  Rebel  of  the  Family 
"  My  Love  ! "         |  lone. 

BY  HENRY  W.  LUCY. 
Gideon  Fleyce. 

BY  JUSTIN  McCarthy,  m.p. 

The  Waterdale  Neighbours. 
My  Enemy's  Daughter. 
Linley  Rochford.  |   A  Fair  Saxon. 
Dear  Lady  Disdain. 
Miss  Misanthrope. 
Donna  Quixote. 
The  Comet  of  a  Season. 
Maid  of  Athens. 
BY  GEORGE  MACDONALD,LL.D. 
Paul  Faber,  Surgeon. 
Thomas  Wingfold,  Curate. 

BY  MRS.  MACDONELL. 
Quaker  Cousins. 

BY  KATHARINE  S.  MACQUOID. 
Lost  Rose  I     The  Evil  Eye. 

BY  FLORENCE  MARRY  AT. 
Open  !  Sesame  !   |  Written  In  Fire, 

BY  JEAl^  MIDDLEMASS, 
Touch  and  Go. 

BY  D.  CHRISTIE  MURRAY. 


Coals  of  Fire. 
Val  Strange. 
Hearts. 


Life's  Atonement. 
Joseph's  Coat. 
A  Model  Father. 
By  the  Gate  of  the  Sea 
The  Way  of  the  World. 
A  Bit  of  Human  Nature. 

BY  MRS.  OLIPHANT. 

Whiteladies. 

BY  MARGARET  A.  PAUL, 

Gentie  and  Simple. 

BY  JAMES  PAYN. 
Lost  Sir  Massing-  Carlyon's  Year. 

berd. 
Best  of  Husbands 
Fallen  Fortunes. 
Halves. 

Walter's  Word. 
What  He  Cost  Her 
Less  Black  than 

We're  Painted. 
By  Proxy. 
High  Spirits. 
Under  One  Roof. 

BY  E.  C.  PRICE. 
Valentlna.  |  The  Forelgncrt. 

Mrs.  Lancaster's  Rival. 


A  Confidentia 

Agent. 
From  Exile. 
A  Grape  from  a 

Thorn. 
For  Cash  Only. 
Some  Private 

Views. 
Kit :  A  Memory. 
The  Canon's 
Ward. 


CHATTO  &-  IVINDUS,  PICCADILLY, 


29 


Piccadilly  Novels,  cofttinued — 
BY  CHARLES  READE,  D.C.L, 
It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend. 
Hard  Cash.       |    Peg  Wofflngton. 
Christie  Johnstone. 
Griffith  Gaunt.  |    Foul  Play. 
The  Double  Marriage. 
Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long. 
The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth. 
The  Course  of  True  Love. 
The  Autobiography  of  a  Thief. 
Put  Yourself  in  His  Place. 
A  Terrible  Temptation. 
The  Wandering  Heir.  I  A  Simpleton. 
A  Woman  Hater.       I  Readiana. 
Singleheart  and  Doubleface. 
The  Jilt.  [mals. 
Good  Stories  of  Men  and  other  Anl- 

BY  MRS.  J.  H.  RIDDELL, 
Her  Mother's  Darling. 
Prince  of  Wales's  Garden-Party. 
Weird  Stories. 

BY  F.  W.  ROBINSON, 
Women  are  Strange. 
The  Hands  of  Justice. 

BY  JOHN  SAUNDERS, 
Bound  to  the  Wheel. 
Guy  Waterman.  |  Two  Dreamers. 
One  Against  the  World. 
The  Lion  In  the  Path. 
BY  KATHARINE  SAUNDERS, 
Joan  Merryweather. 
Margaret  and  Elizabeth. 
Gideon's  Rock.      I  Heart  Salvage. 
The  High  Mills.    I  Sebastian. 


Piccadilly  Novels,  continued — 
BY  T.  W.  SPEIGHT. 
The  Mysteries  of  Heron  Dyke. 

BY  R.  A.  STERNDALE. 
The  Afghan  Knife. 

BY  BERTHA  THOMAS, 
Proud  Maisie.  |  Cressida. 
The  Violin-Player. 

BY  ANTHONY  TROLLOPE, 
The  Way  we  Live  Now. 
The  American  Senator 
Frau  Frohmann.  |  Marion  Fay. 
Kept  In  the  Dark. 
Mr.  Scarborough's  Family. 
The  Land  Leaguers. 

BY  FRANCES  E.  TROLLOPE, 
Like  Ships  upon  the  Sea. 
Anne  Furness. 
Mabel's  Progress. 

BY  T.  A.  TROLLOPE, 
Diamond  Cut  Diamond 
By  IVAN  TURGENIEFF  and  Others. 
Stories  from  Foreign  Novelists. 

BY  SARAH  TYTLER, 
What  She  Came  Through. 
The  Bride's  Pass. 
Saint  Mungo's  City. 

BY  C.  C.  FRASER-TYTLER. 
Mistress  Judith. 

BY  J.  S.  WINTER. 
Cavalry  Life. 
Regimental  Legends. 


CHEAP  EDITIONS  OF 

Post  8vo,  illustrated 
BY  EDMOND  ABOUT, 
The  Fellah. 

BY  HAMILTON  AIDE. 
Carr  of  Carrlyon.  |  Confidences 

BY  MRS.  ALEXANDER. 
Maid,  Wife,  or  Widow  ? 
Valerie's  Fate. 

BY  SHELSLEY  BEAUCIIAMP. 
Grantley  Grange. 
BY  W.  BESANT  &  JAMES  RICE 
Ready-Money  Mortlboy. 
With  Harp  and  Crown. 
This  Son  of  Vulcan.  |  My  Little  Girl. 
The  Case  of  Mr.  Lucraft. 
The  Golden  Butterfly. 
By  Cella'a  Arbour, 
The  Monks  of  Thelema. 


POPULAR  NOVELS. 

boards,  2s.  each. 

By  Besant  and  Rice,  continued — 
'Twas  in  Trafalgar's  Bay. 
The  Seamy  Side. 
The  Ten  Years'  Tenant. 
The  Chaplain  of  the  Fleet. 

BY  WALTER  BESANT. 
AM  Sorts  and  Conditions  of  Men. 
The  Captains'  Room. 
All  in  a  Garden  Fair. 

BY  FREDERICK  BOYLE. 
Camp  Notes.     |     Savage  Life. 
Chronicles  of  No-man's  Land. 

BY  BRET  HARTE. 
An  Heiress  of  Red  Dog. 
The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp. 
Callfornlan  Stories. 
Gabriel  Conroy.  I  Flip, 


3° 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED  BY 


Cheap  Popular  Novels,  continued — 
BY  ROBERT  BUCHANAN, 


TheMartypdomof 

Madeline. 
Annan  Water. 
The  New  Abelard. 


The   Shadow  of 

the  Sword. 
A  Child  of  Nature. 
God  and  the  Man. 
Love  Me  for  Ever. 

BY  MRS.  BURNETT. 

Surly  Tim. 

BY  MRS.  LOVETT  CAMERON. 
Deceivers  Ever.  I  Juliet's  Guardian 

BY  MAC  LA  REN  COBBAN. 
The  Cure  of  Souls. 

BY  C.  ALLSTON  COLLINS, 
The  Bar  Sinister. 

BY  WILKIE  COLLINS. 


The  New  Magda- 
len. 

The  Frozen  Deep. 
Law  and  the  Lady. 
TheTwo  Destinies 
Haunted  Hotel. 
The  Fallen  Leaves. 
Jezebel'sDaughter 
The  Black  Robe. 
Heart  and  Science 


Antonina. 
Basil. 

Hide  and  Seek. 
The  Dead  Secret. 
Queen  of  Hearts. 
My  Miscellanies. 
V^^oman  in  White. 
The  Moonstone. 
Man  and  Wife. 
Poor  Miss  Finch. 
Miss  or  Mrs.  ? 

BY  MORTIMER  COLLINS. 
Sweet  Anne  Page.  |  From  Midnight  to 
Transmigration.  |  IVIidnlght. 

A  Fight  v/ith  Fortune. 
MORTIMER  &  FRANCES  COLLINS. 
Sweet  and  Twenty.  1  Frances. 
Blacksmith  and  Scholar. 
The  Village  Comedy. 
You  Play  me  False. 

BY  BUTTON  COOK. 
Leo.  I  Paul  Foster's  Daughter. 

BY  WILLIAM  CYFLES. 
Hearts  of  Gold. 

BY  ALPHONSE  DAUDET. 
The  Evangelist;  or,  Port  Salvation, 

BY  DE  MILLE, 
A  Castle  in  Spain. 

BY  J.  LEITH  DERWENT. 
Our  Lady  of  Tears.  I  Circe's  Lovers. 

BY  CHARLES  DICKENS. 
Sketches  by  Boz.  |  Oliver  Twist. 
Pickwick  Papers.  I  Nicholas  T^^ckleby 
BY  MRS.  ANNIE  E DWARVES. 
A  Point  of  Honour.  |    Archie  Lovell. 

BY  M.  BETH AM-ED  WARDS, 
Felicia.  |  Kitty. 

BY  EDWARD  EGGLESTON. 
Roxy, 


Cheap  Popular  Novels,  continued-^ 
BY  PERCY  FITZGERALD. 
Bella  Donna.  |  Never  Forgotten 
The  Second  Mrs.  Tillotson. 
Polly. 

Seventy-five  Brooke  Street. 
The  Lady  of  Brantome. 
BY  ALBANY  DE  FONBLANQUE. 
Filthy  Lucre. 

BY  R.  E.  FRANCILLON. 
Olympia.  I  Queen  Cophctua 

One  by  One.     I  A  Real  Queen. 
Prefaced  by  Sir  H.  BARTLE  FRERE. 
Pandurang  Harl. 

BY  HAIN  FRISWELL. 
One  of  Tv/o. 

BY  EDWARD  GARRETT 
The  Capel  Girls. 

BY  CHARLES  GIBBON. 


Queen  of  the  Mea- 
dow. 

The  Flower  of  the 
Forest. 

A  Heart's  Problem 

The  Braes  of  Yar- 
row. 

The  Golden  Shaft. 
Of  High  Degree. 


Robin  Gray. 
For  Lack  of  Gold. 
What    will  the 

World  Say  ? 
In  Honour  Bound. 
The  Dead  Heart. 
In  Love  and  War. 
For  the  King. 
In  Pastures  Green 

BY  WILLI A^  GILBERT, 
Dr.  Austin's  Guests. 
The  Wizard  of  the  Mountain. 
James  Duke. 

BY  JAMES  GREENWOOD. 
Dick  Temple. 

BY  ANDREW  HALLWAY. 
Every-Day  Papers. 

BY  LADY  DUFFUS  HARDY, 
Paul  Wynter's  Sacrifice. 

BY  THOMAS  HARDY. 
Under  the  Greenwood  Tree. 
BY  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE. 
Garth.  i  Sebastian  Stroma 

Elllce  Quentln.      |  Dust. 
Prince  Saroni's  Wife. 
Fortune's  Fool. 
Beatrix  Randolph. 

BY  SIR  ARTHUR  HELPS, 
Ivan  de  Biron. 

BY  TOM  HOOD. 
A  Golden  Heart. 

BY  MRS.  GEORGE  HOOPER. 
The  House  of  Raby. 

BY  VICTOR  HUGO. 
The  Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame 


CHATTO  6*  W INDUS,  PICCADILLY 


31 


Cheap  Popular  Novels,  continutd—' 
BY  MRS.  ALFRED  HUNT. 
Thopnicroft's  Model. 
The  Leaden  Casket. 
Self-Condemned. 

BY  JEAN  INGELOW, 
Fated  to  be  Free. 

BY  HARRIETT  JAY. 
The  Dark  Colleen. 
The  Queen  of  Connaught. 
BY  HENRY  KINGS  LEY. 
Oakshott  Castle.  |  Number  Seventeen 
BY  E.  LYNN  LINTON. 
Patricia  Kemball. 
The  Atonement  of  Learn  Dundas. 
The  World  Vv'ell  Lost. 
Under  which  Lord  ? 
With  a  Silken  Thread. 
The  Rebel  of  the  Family. 
"My  Love!"       |  lone. 

BY  HENRY  W.  LUCY. 
Gideon  FIcyce. 

BY  JUSTIN  McCarthy,  m.p. 

Dear  LadyDisdain  LInley  Rochford. 
The  Waterdale  MIssMisanthrope 

Neighbours.         Donna  Quixote. 
My  Enemy's  The  Comet  of  a 

Daughter.  Season. 
A  Fair  Saxon.         Maid  of  Athens. 
BY  GEORGE  MAC  DONALD. 
Paul  Faber,  Surgeon. 
Thomas  Wingfold,  Curate. 

BY  MRS.  MAC  DO  NELL, 
Quaker  Cousins. 

BY  KATHARINE  S.  MACQUOID. 
The  Evil  Eye.        |     Lost  Rose. 
BY  IV.  H.  MALLOCK. 
The  New  Republic. 

BY  FL0RE:<CE  MARRY  at. 
Open  !  Sesame!    I  A  Little  Stepson. 
A  Harvest  of  Wild    Fighting  the  Air. 
Oats.  I  Written  In  Fire. 

BY  J.  MASTERMAN. 
Haif-a-dozen  Daughters. 

BY  JEAN  MIDDLEMASS. 
Touch  and  Go.     |    Mr.  DorlHlcn. 
BY  D.  CHRISTIE  MURRAY, 


ALIfe'sAtonement 
A  Model  Father. 
Joseph's  Coat. 
Coals  of  Fire. 

BY  MRS.  OLIPHANT. 
Whlto!ad!c8. 


By  the  Gate  of  the 

Sea. 
Val  Strange. 
Hearts. 


Cheap  Popular  Novels,  continued — 
BY  MRS.  ROBERT  O'REILLY. 
Phoebe's  Fortunes. 

BY  OUIDA 


Held  In  Bondage 
Strathmore. 
Chandos. 
Under  Two  Flags. 
Idalla. 

Cecil  Castle- 

maine. 
Tricotrln. 
Puck. 

Folle  Farlne. 
A  Dog  of  Flanders. 
Pascarel. 
Signa. 

BY  MARGARET  AGNES  PAUL, 
Gentle  and  Simple. 


TwoLlttleWocden 

Shoes. 
In  a  Winter  City. 
Ariadne. 
Friendship. 
Moths. 
Pipistrello. 
A  Village  Com- 
mune. 
Bimbl. 

In  Maremma. 
Wanda. 
Frescoes. 


BY  JAMES  PAYN. 


Lost  Sir  Massing 
berd. 

A    Perfect  Trea- 
sure. 

Bentinck's  Tutor. 

Murphy's  Master. 

A  County  Family. 

At  Her  Mercy. 

A  Woman's  Ven- 
geance. 

Cecil's  Tryst. 

Clyffards  of  Clyffe 

The  Family  Scape- 
grace. 

Foster  Brothers. 

Found  Dead. 

□est  of  Husbands 

V/alter's  Word. 

Halves. 

Fallen  Fortunes. 
V/hat  He  Cost  Her 
Humorous  Stories 
Gwendoline's  Har- 
vest. 

£200  Reward  1 

BY  EDGAR  A.  POE. 
The  Mystery  of  Marie  Roget. 

BY  E.  C,  PRICE. 
Valentlna. 
The  Foreigners. 
Mrs.  Lancaster's  Rival. 

BY  CHARLES  READE. 
It  Is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend 
Hard  Cash. 
Peg  Wofflngton. 
Christie  Johnstone. 


Like  Father,  Like 

Son. 
A  Marine  Resi- 
dence. 
Married  Beneath 

Him. 
Mirk  Abbey. 
Not   Wooed,  but 

Won. 
Less  Black  than 

We're  Painted. 
By  Proxy. 
Under  One  Roof. 
High  Spirits. 
Carlyon's  Year. 
A  Confidential 

Agent. 
Some  Private 

Views. 
From  Exile. 
A  Grape  from  a 

Thorn. 
For  Cash  Only. 
Kit :  A  Memory 
The  Canon  sWard 


3^       BOOKS  PUBLISHED  BY  CHATTO  <S-  WINDUS. 


Cheap  Popular  Novels,  continued-^ 
By  Charles  Reade,  continued, 
Griffith  Gaunt. 
Put  Yourself  In  His  Place. 
The  Double  Marriage. 
Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long. 
Foul  Play. 

The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth. 
The  Course  of  True  Love. 
Autobiography  of  a  Thief. 
A  Terrible  Temptation. 
The  Wandering  Heir. 
A  Simpleton. 
A  Woman-Hater. 
Readiana. 

SIngleheart  and  Doubleface. 
Good  Stories  of  Men  and  other 

Animals. 
The  Jilt. 

BY  MRS,  J.  H.  RIDDELL. 
Her  Mother's  Darling. 
Prince  of  Wales's  Garden  Party. 
Weird  Stories. 
The  Uninhabited  House. 
Fairy  Water. 

BY  F.  W.  ROBINSON. 
Women  are  Strange. 
The  Hands  of  Justice. 

[BY  W.  CLARK  RUSSELL, 
Round  the  Galley  Fire. 

BY  BAYLE  ST.  JOHN, 
A  Levantine  Family. 
BY  GEORGE  AUGUSTUS  SALA. 
Gaslight  and  Daylight. 

BY  JOHN  SAUNDERS. 
Bound  to  the  Wheel. 
One  Against  the  World. 
Guy  Waterman. 
The  Lion  in  the  Path. 
Two  Dreamers. 

BY  KATHARINE  SAUNDERS, 
Joan  Merryweather, 
Margaret  and  Elizabeth. 
Gideon's  Rock. 
The  High  Mills. 

BY  ARTHUR  SKETCHLEY. 
A  Match  in  the  Dark. 

BY  T.  W.  SPEIGHT, 
The  Mysteries  of  Heron  Dyke. 

BY  R,  A.  STERN  DALE. 
The  Afghan  Knife. 

BY  R.  LOUIS  STEVENSON. 
New  Arabian  Nights. 

BY  BERTHA  THOMAS. 
Cressida.  |    Proud  Maisle. 

The  Violin-Player. 

BY  W.  MOY  THOMAS. 
A  Fight  for  Life. 

BY  WALTER  THORNBURY, 
Tales  for  the  Marines. 


Cheap  Popular  Novels,  continued^ 
BY  T.  ADOLPHUS  TROLLOPE. 
Diamond  Cut  Diamond. 

BY  ANTHONY  TROLLOPE, 
The  Way  We  Live  Now. 
The  American  Senator. 
Frau  Frohmann. 
Marion  Fay. 
Kept  in  the  Dark. 
Mr.  Scarborough's  Family. 
The  Land-Leaguers. 
The  Golden  Lion  of  Granpere. 
John  Caldigate. 
By  FRANCES  ELEANOR  TROLLOPS 
Like  Ships  upon  the  Sea. 
Anne  Furness. 
Mabel's  Progress. 

BY  IVAN  TURGENIEFF,  &c. 
Stories  from  Foreign  Novelists.^ 

BY  MARK  T^VAiN, 
Tom  Sawyer. 
An  Idle  Excursion. 
A  Pleasure  Trip  on  the  Continent 

of  Europe. 
A  Tramp  Abroad. 
The  Stolen  White  Elephant. 

BY  C.  C.  FRASER-TYTLER. 
Mistress  Judith. 

BY  SARAH  TYTLER, 
What  She  Came  Through. 
The  Bride's  Pass. 

BY  J.  S.  WINTER. 
Cavalry  Life.  |  Regimental  Legends. 

BY  LADY  WOOD. 
Sab  In  a. 

BY  EDMUND  YATES. 
Castaway.     |  The  Forlorn  Hope. 
Land  at  Last. 

ANONYMOUS. 
Paul  Ferroll. 

Why  Paul  Ferroll  Killed  his  Wife. 


Fcap.  8vo,  picture  covers,  Is.  each. 
Jeff  Briggs's  Love  Story.    By  Bret 
Harte. 

The  Twins  of  Table  Mountain.  By 

Bret  Harte, 
Mrs.  Gainsborough's  Diamonds.  By 

Julian  Hawthorne. 
Kathleen  Mavourneen.   By  Author 

of    That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's." 
Lindsay's  Luck.    By  the  Author  of 

"  That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's.'* 
Pretty  Polly  Pemberton.    By  the 

Author  of  "That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's." 
Trooping  with  Crows.     By  Mrs. 

PiRXIS. 

The  Professor's  Wife.   By  Leonard 
Graham. 

A  Double  Bond.    By  Linda  Villari. 
Esther's  Glove.  By  R.  E.  Francillon. 
The  Garden  that  Paid  the  Rent. 
By  Tom  Jerrold. 


J,  OGDEN  AND  CO.,  PRINTERS, 


173,  ST.  JOHN  STREET,  B.C.  . 


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